Where All The Scars From The Nevers & Maybes, Die
by TheBroadwaywannabe
Summary: And what do you do when a tornado strikes ? You hide. You try to escape before it causes you trauma, before it kills you, before it adds to that bountiful of ugly scars that already harass your memory Eventual MR. Post RENT
1. There Is No Such Thing As Tradegty

**There's no such thing as tragedy, I cant resent what's meant to be**

A/n: DONT SKIP IT PLEASE. **No serously, dont be an ass and just read it.** Heyy guys! Alright well, Mimi here ( Yes my name is ironic, deal with it) and this is my first fic. Rent is my all time favorite... everything, and well I could go on for hours but I'd better not, might freak you guys out :] At first, when I stumbled upon the Roger Mark pairing , I didn't even want to look at it, it just seemed so.. odd to me. But I broke down and read one, one thing led to another and here I am. This is my first fic, although I am VERY familar with the site. I have the whole thing written already ( 45 pages in font size 10 on microsoft word :]) So I will deffinatly Post a chapter once a week. I find my writing style throughout many parts of this story to be VERY unintelligent, and not poetic in the least , specificly for the way I usually write and think, and im not proud of it but once you get stuck writing that way in a fic its kind of hard to stop. So please try to excuse that, I mean I am only a 13 year old girl ... who is far too old for her age. And now i'm babbiling. ANYWAY, I love stories that take a while and build up to Mark and Roger getting together, instead of starting right off the bat, so thats what I (attempted) to do here, and got a little carried away. I always do. I have no beta, and don't really want one so, don't be an asshole and point out all my mistakes(grammer and spelling? NOT MY THING) kay ?  
I'll babble more in the begining of the next chapter.  
Oh and I'd love to thank Anthony Rapp and Adam Pascal for making Mark and Roger SO MOTHER FUCKING **HOT.** I mean really.

Disclaimer: Fuck you all.  
Jonathan Larson (whom RENT was created by) is one of the most amazing men that ever lived though. I would say god bless him, but I am atheist. Much to my rents dismay. Everything I do is to their dismay. Rambiling again....

WARNING: Language, sexual refrences, crude humor, angst, more language... have you ever **met** me ?

Roger sighed slamming his hand down on the strings of his guitar, stopping their vibration. Attempting to play wasn't taking his mind off of anything, or calming him down, actually it was just frustrating him more with the fact he hadn't been able to write a song for a long time, or even begin one. How do you write a song with no inspiration whatsoever? Not that he felt like writing or doing much today anyway, just anything to distract him; he couldn't be left alone with his thoughts, not today. Leaning his guitar against the edge of the poor excuse for a couch, Roger stiffly hauled himself up from the tattered and worn cushions and stalked across his and Mark's poorly kept loft. Hygiene wasn't either of the boy's strong suit, nor was it top priority to either of the young men. Not even close. Roger found himself sitting on the edge of his bed, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, staring blankly at nothing in particular. Had it really been a year? A whole goddamn year. Not that it had amounted to much. God it had been a year ago, a year ago today, if only he had- Roger jumped at the sound of the loft door sliding shut "Roger?" came the ever so familiar voice "Roger I'm home"

"No shit" Roger mumbled bitterly, not stirring or shifting his gaze from whatever it was he was concentrating on. Mark threw his bike and filming equipment down shedding himself of his coat, gloves, and his ever so recognizable scarf. He was, for a moment, apprehensive to confront Roger today and considered leaving him be, but his concern soon took him over as he strode across the main area of the loft, to the door of Roger's room, where he figured his best friend was. He once again stopped outside the door, debating once more if he should really try to have a conversation with Roger today, but as before, he figured it was the better thing to do and cautiously entered the room.

"Uhmmm hey Roger, ....how you doing?" Mark asked carefully lowering himself on the edge of the bed

"Just fucking dandy" Roger murmured not stirring from his position, barely acknowledging Mark's presence

"what's up?" Mark asked as kindly as possible avoiding looking at anything but his shoes. Like he didn't already know. When Roger didn't reply Mark gave a weary sigh and fidgeted around.

"Roger what's wrong ?" he knew immediately after the words escaped he would regret them.

What's wrong ?!?!?! Roger thought. The bastard what the fuck did he think was wrong?. Who the hell did he think he was coming in here anyway? And acting like he didn't know what today was?

"You know fucking well what's wrong Mark, don't you fucking dare pretend you don't know, don't remember.."

"Roger I know it's -"

"Goddamn it Mark I don't want to talk about anything!" The guitarist snapped " I know you like playing therapist for me, but I don't always want to talk!" Roger was raising his voice at this point, his temper getting the best of him as it usually did

"you NEVER talk about anything Roger.." Mark said softly meeting his friends gaze for a few moments before returning his eyes to the floor. He could never last long during eye contact

"Okay fine you want me to goddamn talk?!?!" Roger was yelling now, his voice getting louder with each statement. He jumped to his feet fixing daggers on the much smaller and more timid man sitting on the bed.

"The girl I was fucking in love with , who I hoped to spend the rest of my life with, slit her freaking wrists and bled to death in our bathroom, because she had HIV.. because WE had HIV, the girl I could have stopped , the girl I could have made feel like she could get through this with me, I found that girl on the bathroom floor with a note on this very date two fucking years ago!" Roger had kept Mark in his line of visions up until then, when he turned around and started to pace "AND it's been a year since the girl that came into my life and changed the fact I was sure I was never going to love anyone like that again , the girl who quiet heroin for me, the girl that inspired me to write that song I'd been waiting for, the girl I wasted so much of our time together fighting her away , when I could have been holding her, that girl that nearly died on our table from OD but came back for ME, that girl was fucking murdered running through a seedy part of town after one of our fights, she was MURDERED because I couldn't fucking control myself and stop yelling at her! Okay ? are fucking happy now Mark ? Are you happy!??!" Roger whipped around and glared at Mark who returned his gaze as long as possible before turning his eyes away . Mark thought how painfully ironic it was that these two tragedies happened on the same date just a year apart.

"Roger you can't.."

" Mark just shut the fuck up, you don't know everything.. You don't know ANYTHING , you weren't in love with either of them, you don't know shit Mark, all you care about is your piece of shit camera anyway." The musician dared, a threatening tone beginning to play amongst the words 'Don't pretend you know anything Mark just don't, your not fooling anyone, your not even fooling me with the 'Mark is perfectly happy and has nothing wrong and no bad emotions' façade. That's fake, that's bull shit, and so is this fucking life, this life that will be cut drastically short, this life where all people do is let me down and die on me, this life where everything is fucked up damn it" Roger took a breath "you don't know shit Mark you never have.. not that it matters anyway " Now Mark, he had been through a lot with Roger, you had to have a great patients to be friends with the ex- rocker in the first place, and Mark was a accepting guy, Mark was a calm guy, usually Mark didn't yell. But Roger always, somehow, managed to twist him just the wrong way.

"Roger I'm so fucking sick of this shit! Rogers got his guitar, Rogers got his music, Roger doesn't care, PLEASE! that's bullshit"

Roger was a bit taken aback at his best friends actions, for Mark usually did not lash back this violently, If at all.

"If you know me so fucking well, then why don't you tell me what I need? Huh?" The musician challenged him, looking him straight in the face. Mark returned the glare, not flinching away as he usually did, which also shocked the larger man.

"You need to stop running from yourself " Mark's voice was rising once again as he moved himself from the bed and closed in on Roger, locking his eyes in a cold stare. "you need to stop hiding from the fact that you feel , you feel Roger! You need to give in and let go before you die inside." Mark sighed and became soft again for a few moments "you're dieing inside" he muttered

Roger clenched his fists till his knuckles turned white " I'm alone. I've been alone for years . I'm fine alone. I'm not meant to be happy WITH someone I am meant to be alone. I don't need you I don't need anyone." Mark once again caught Rogers eyes in an iron gaze

"look me in the eyes and tell me that's not a lie, that those all aren't lies" Mark's voice held a bitter catch that almost sounded out of place " you're lying to me, your lying to everyone… your lying to YOURSELF!"

"What the hell do you -" but Roger was cut off by Mark shoving him hard against the wall and fixing him with another cold hearted look. Those eyes, he used them as weapons, to turn you cold. To threaten you. "Answer me truthfully, are you happy? Are even okay?"

"I'm fine" Mark gave him a skeptical look

" I'm fine I said I'm-"

"It's a yes or no question" Mark demanded, traces of hostility in his voice

"Let me go" Mark didn't notice he had pinned the larger man to the wall

"That's a no" Mark murmured releasing his grip on Roger

"I fucking told you Mark I'm fine I'm-"

"NO YOUR NOT " The sudden sharp tone and rise in Mark's vice was startling, causing Roger to flinch and whirl back around. "Would you stop this goddamn act?! You've showed us all you're tough , you've showed yourself your tough ,you proven you know how to act, but now you look like an idiot, I see right through you. You have to stop, stop with these walls , Stop with this-"

"Shut up" Roger replied sharply "Just fucking stop and get out . Who gives a damn anyway no ones ever given two shits about me " Mark let out a low laugh

"Is that really what you think?"

"Laugh all you want you'll see all people ever do is -"

"Roger of course people care…"

"All people do, all they can EVER do is hurt you, when you finally care for someone, when you let them in , they tear you up and just cause pain."

"And how is that?"

"All that can happen is pain, All people can ever do is either : Hurt you, lie to you, forget about you, move away, run away, or die." Roger grit his teeth and tipped his head toward the ceiling closing his eyes "no one cares for me, so I won't care either… I don't.. at all…it wasn't meant to be like that for me"

"Is that honestly what you believe Roger?" The young man simply sighed in return leaning his head and arm up against the wall "You need to stop this , you need to stop feeling sorry for yourself, you need to stop acting like you don't Have pain Roger. Haven't we already gone through this once ? No good is coming of it, you're just fucking yourself up more" When no response came, Mark sighed in frustration his voice laced with venom "I can't deal with this shit!" Roger slammed his fist into the wall and turned back around.

"Just get the fuck away from me Mark " Mark grabbed his camera bag and winter gear, roughly and hastily making his way toward the sliding door. He stepped through the doorframe, and in hopes of getting the last word, turned around and called back to his roommate "you need to admit to the truth Roger, you cant run forever" and then sighed " take your AZT" and slid the door shut behind him. Roger moved back over to the wall and once again pushed his head up against it. Mark couldn't take it ? Mark had handled everything Roger had ever thrown at him, depression, addiction, withdrawal. Withdrawal…. that had to be one of the worst, god the things he had tried and the things he had said to Mark, his constant physical as well as mental illness. Such violent symptoms, how did Mark handle that? His memory of the time was scattered, probably for the better, although he flinched whenever he saw an old scar or bruise still discoloring Mark's pale skin. He did remember, however, Mark not sleeping for 3 days straight till Collins came home and forced him too , he remember the deep worry lines setting into the younger man's face, that bags under his eyes, how thin and pale he got since most money went toward medication and food , and if Mark had a say all food went to Roger. Collins had to force Mark to eat, force Mark to sleep, force Mark to do anything for himself. A wave of guilt raked Rogers's body. All this shit he gives Mark when Mark sacrifices so much. Mark had been there through everything, Roger most likely wouldn't be alive if it weren't for Mark . He said he couldn't take it ? Mark had never said anything like that to him before, and honestly, It scared the shit out of Roger. Mark would never leave him right ? Well why did he care, he didn't need anyone…

Except maybe Mark..

No , no he didn't. They often had fights like this, some much worse, many worse things had happened….. why all of the sudden would he decide he couldn't take it ? With another heavy sigh Roger pushed himself from the wall and settled back on the couch. He considered grabbing his guitar , but knowing no good would come of it, leaned his head back and dozed off.

* * *

Mark had cooled off long ago, but still insisted on roaming the streets as he had been doing for 4 hours now . He wasn't really sure where he was going . He wasn't even paying attention to where he was walking, he was far too absorbed in his thoughts. What could get through to Roger ? Everyone had something that got to them, Mark had to hit Roger where it hurt, make him realize the truth, but couldn't think of the words that could do that. Now he knew how Roger felt when he couldn't come up with that song, although he himself was frustrated with his own work and mind blocks. Had it really been 2 years? 2 year since him and Roger stumbled out of the cold into their little loft, Roger still laughing, Mark still blushing from the scene outside. A chick working the corners had walked up and proceeded to hit on Mark, asked him his number and dropping sexual implications. He had just stood there stuttering , trying politely to decline, when suddenly she had lunged forward and started groping for the crotch of his pants, causing Mark, who was caught completely off guard, to kick her in the face and break her little pig nose. Roger could barely breath and his rib cage hurt, probably due to the way he had laughed all the way home and imitated Mark's karate kick. Mark once again sat there stuttering, laughing, and of course blushing. They both threw their winter wear on the floor as Roger started calling out to April. Mark was trying to find anything to drink in the kitchen besides their brown tinted tap water (if their plumbing was even on) when he heard shrill scream of Aprils name arouse from the next room . Mark, panicked, let the glass he had been holding, fall to the ground , shattering in a million pieces and sprinted over to the bathroom, where the cry was drifting from.

"Roger whats-" then Marks eyes rested upon that scene. Roger pulling April out of the pink tinted water of the bath tub, cradling her head while sobbing. Blood poured from the long vertical slits going down the length of both her arms, a stained razor was lying next to the tub. Mark froze, he didn't know what to do, and for a moment, his breathing subsided , he lost all hearing, feeling and his ability to move, the only sound was his heart beating in his head. Only for a moment though, until he found himself on the phone with a 911 operator , although he didn't remember walking away or picking up the phone. Roger had started screaming uncontrollably , repetitively shrieking incoherently. After he had hung up, Mark made his way back to the bathroom door . Another glimpse of the tragedy unfolding inside the pink stained room sent him tumbling to his knees, the door frame proving him with his only support. He heard more faint screaming, and was vaguely aware it was coming from his own being, but didn't care enough to try and stop. The door burst open as 4 uniformed men and women came flooding into the loft. The screaming erupting from Roger only grew louder as they entered, and after a few moments of struggle, a young uniformed women tapped Mark on the shoulder

" sir, please you have to get this young man in here away from this girl's body" Mark shuttered, her BODY?

"She's dead?" the question was hoarse, as he was barely able to force the words from his dry tightening throat .

"yes…. She is dead…. I'm so sorry.. But Please get your friend off of her ,and please restrain him, he may be suffering a physiological break down" Mark didn't remember much after that, besides walking into the blood soaked room and attempting to pull Roger away.

"Get the fuck away from me, don't touch me, don't get near me, don't touch her , don't touch her, she needs me, she's in pain, she needs me…" Roger continued to babble and then scream as Mark used all the strength he didn't even know he had to tear Roger away. The only other thing he recollected after that was sitting on the couch holding Roger, who had gone limp in his arms sobbing. Holding him and rocking him, not thinking anything, not feeling anything "she needs me , she needs me I love her, I love her, she loves me Mark she loves me, Mark make them give her back, I need her, she's in pain, April.. Where's April?" He remembered hiding Rogers face in his own chest when they carried her out on the stretcher, hidden in a body bag. He recalled the only though that fluttered into his head at the time, although he was still completely emotionless , was how odd it was to hold Roger. The only other person he had really held close was Maureen, but holding Roger was just so odd, he usually didn't make close contact to people at all, much less tough, bad ass Roger. His best friend Roger who was a much bigger man than he was, so diverse from himself. The only contact they had ever really made was maybe a occasional hug when necessary, or a playful punch or hair scrunch but even subtle actions such as that weren't often either. Mark had never expected to ever hold another man like this, much less Roger…. His mind then drifted away again not coming back till the next morning when he awoke to his best friend, readying to jump off the fire escape of their top story loft. Mark had to drag him back inside, shut and lock all windows, doors, throw away all razors, medications he could OD on, anything sharp, anything where he could hurt himself… or be successful in what he was trying to do.

Mark shuddered at the thoughts and snapped back to the present, trying to shake the image of that night two years ago. The street he found himself on looked familiar, although he couldn't quite place why . The film maker took in the sights around him, the homeless and the rich, the different personalities and lives all mixing in a blur as they pushed their way down the street. He observed the diversity of the city and scanned for anything interesting enough to waste his film on. He turned his head bringing his eyes to rest upon two men, pushed against a wall, kissing each other, making out passionately. Mark shuddered and turned away. He wasn't prejudice, god, Angel (bless his.. her soul) would have had his ass if he even though of putting them down, but she also probably would have told them to get a room . Not that he had anything wrong with people of the same gender being in love, nothing at all, it was just, he couldn't imagine himself doing that with another man, not that he had ever really thought about it before….. His own thoughts where starting to cause him discomfort, driving him to rake his brain for anything else to think about. Unfortunately all he had was another memory. Mimi's beautiful smile. Beautiful, big, playful, never afraid, never dampening smile . The one that had worked miracles, the one that had shown Roger he could love again, the one that brought Roger back to everyone, back to the world. How she managed it only a year after April, Mark would never know. How It had been a year since she left, he also wasn't sure. He tended to try his hardest not to think about things, not to remember, and he almost always was successful.

It was around 11:45 p.m and Mark could hear Mimi and Roger arguing downstairs. They argued regularly but never this badly, usually not loud enough for Mark to hear anyway. Mark sat in an old broken down chair, fiddling with his camera . The screaming persisted for another 5 minutes until he heard the slam of Mimi's door and someone hurrying down the stairs out of the building. He heard another slam and Rogers heavy footsteps , storming up the stair case.

"uhm.. Hi" Mark said lightly as Roger brushed past him mumbling something that sounded like "inconsiderate little bitch…she had to do this TODAY…a year after …" under his breath before slamming his bedroom door. Mark sighed knowing it was best under the circumstances not to push and went back to his work, eventually falling asleep on the couch. Both the boys woke with a start a few hours later when the phone rang. No one ever called them this late. Roger poked his head out the door curiously and Mark sat up stiffly from his sleeping position.

"SPEAK"

" Roger Mark ?" please , please pick up it's Mimi I'm in this alley way on avenue C …its… it's dark and someone is following me please someo-" Roger grabbed up the phone while Mark stood next to him with his ear crammed next to Rogers in the receiver trying to listen.

"Mimi it's me its Roger, Mimi whats wrong?"

"I was walking and.. Oh god their getting closer… Roger its dark, this guy looks big, I don't have a weapon Roger, no one is around the only way to get away is to run past him and-"

"Mimi?"Roger and Mark listened as she seemed to be talking to the mysterious shadow that had been following her.

"what? No I don't have any money, I don't have anything on me , I'm sorry …. I'm not lying! I swear" she started to cry and plea now "no I don't have anything I swear please , please I don't have anything … what are you doing?!??" A loud thunk sounded implying that Mimi had dropped the phone, " no get away from me please, what is that?!?! No I'm not lying, no you don't need a weapon no please"

"yer a pretty little thing arnt'cha" came a husky voice from the background . Roger then jumped up

"you stay here on the phone with her I'm going to get her"

"TAKE A WEAPON!" Mark called back as the door slammed "SHIT SHIT PLEASE ANSWER ME MIMI!" Silence " Mimi are you there.. Please?" Mark knew she wouldn't answer, he knew all too well, he just didn't want to believe it. He listened

"No, no please no, don't do this"

"it's been a long time for me girl, I need me some hot sex"

"No , no please"

"You know your going to have to die after this girl, right?"

"god no please.. ROGER ROGER SAVE ME ROGER I LOVE YOU"Mark's breath caught in his throat, he grabbed a stray container and emptied the contents of his stomach, although he didn't remember the last time he ate. He hoped and prayed to the god he didn't believe in that Roger would get there in time, would save her… Then the power went out. The phone turned off, the lights, everything. Mark sat on the ground for a while, dry heaving , the worst possible scenarios dancing in his head, praying to whatever the fuck did exist that Roger got there in time, and attempting to hold himself together. He finally managed to get up and light candles before flouncing back on the couch to wait. He noticed the power flick back a while later . As he was starting to doze Roger burst through the door, holding a limp body in his arms

"MARK CALL AN AMBULANCE NOW!" This scene was way to familiar to Mark. Not again, not again, not again. He kept repeating this in his mind as he dialed the number for 911. After hanging up he to find Roger had fallen to the couch and was holding Mimi, who was plaid only in her underwear , bleeding horribly, (Mark later found out the blood was coming from knife gashes and stab wounds on her throat and chest) and rocking her back and forth . He was crying and muttering to himself "not again, not again, not again, not again" Mark fell to his knees, praying to god, something he couldn't remember doing since he was young. Roger was now quietly mumbling/ singing " your eyes" and continued to do so for what seemed like endless amounts of time. Mark eventually worked up the courage to feel for a pulse in her arm. There was none

"shit fucking shit no no no no no" Mark closed his eyes and lowered his head against the wall trying to find a way around the truth. The ambulance came but Mark knew it was too late, although he didn't want to admit it Mark once again was left to clean up the shattered pieces of Roger, hold him and comfort him, which once again brought that awkward feeling back to the pit of is stomach, although he really couldn't identify why .

The young man again snapped back to the presence, trying to rid himself of yet another recollection of a life shattering event. He looked around, absorbing his whereabouts waiting for memory to come flooding back. He was in the community center, the one where they held the life support meetings. The last time he was there was Christmas last year, the day he went with Collins and Angle, the day Roger finally decided to give in and leave the loft, to attend one of the meeting. God it all seemed so long ago… Angle there smiling brightly, Collins back when he was happier, less worn down , the warm feeling that ran through Mark when he saw his best friend enter, staring blankly ahead , reluctantly allowing Collins to wrap his arm around his shoulder… it seemed almost as if it had never occurred. Mimi had forced Roger out of his cage, she had danced in , changed him back to his old self, minus the drugs and recklessness. Him and Mark never fought during those times, everyone was happy then. Mark wasn't stupid, he knew members of the group pitied him due to the fact he was "alone", but all this FRIENDS were happy , they where all together, which made him as content as ever, he didn't really need a girl to come in and complicate things. That was something he and Roger had in common though, they would rather have anyone's hatred then their pity. Mark then realized how cold he was and how thin his coat had become. Thoughts of Roger and his well being floated into Marks mind as he started on his way home, once again passing the two passionate men pushed up against that brick wall. *


	2. I Can't Resent What's Meant To Be

A/n : CHAPTER TWOO!!!! Yeah. Alright well, just a few things I forgot to mention : I know Roger was being annoying and way to self pittying in the last chaper but thats kind of his persona, yes ? And also, I ADORE Mimi, to death really, I killed her off because I didn't want her and Roger to just ... break up, I like the idea they were and always will be in love. And I had her murdered because... well its dramatic. Serously, If you don't like MEGA amounts of Drama, ditch this now. Its not unrealisitc soap opera drama, but I write things that would probably never happen in a realistic way. If that makes scence... just read the fucking story.

Disclaimer : Serously, I think we all know this by now

Warning : uhmmm... **_I _**wrote it

I Can't Resent What's Meant To Be 

** Roger woke up shivering… no more like shaking uncontrollably, sweat dripping from his aching limbs. He felt a searing pain and looked down to find his finger nails logged deeply into his palms. He loosened his grip and blood began dribbling from the fresh wounds. He didn't remember what his nightmare had been about, nor did he remember ever having any nightmares in the past, all he knew is this nigh terror had scared him half out of his mind and left him not sure of what to do with himself. He realized just how erratic his breathing was and decided to sit still, staring at his quivering, bleeding hands and trying to calm himself down, which was proving to be very difficult. His breathing was still uneven and raspy as Mark entered. He didn't say a word, he was trying to avoid Roger and another argument for the rest of the day . Roger merely glanced up at the disturbance then quickly cast his eyes back to the purple scars and red blood forming on his hands. Mark soon became aware of Rogers distress and hastily turned to the shaken guitarist.

"Shit Roger what happened, whats wrong?"

"I..I.." Roger couldn't think straight, it seemed he couldn't will himself out of this nightmarish, terrified state

"Oh man your bleeding, really bad" Mark observed , moving to the kitchen to grab something to mop up the blood, but to no prevail , he resorted to pulling off his own t-shirt (he wasn't quit sure why had decided to wear it in the middle of winter anyway ) and made his way back over to Roger who was still shaking violently on the sofa . "Damn Roger, are those from your finger nails?" he asked, tearing his shirt in half and tying up Rogers fresh self inflicted injury "Roger ?" Mark kneeled down by the shivering heap "Roger its okay" he said softly grabbing Roger's shoulders.

"Mark??" Roger seemed distant but managed to fixate his own eyes on Mark's deep blue orbs.

"Yeah, Roger it's okay, it's me, its Mark"

"Mark?" Mark was at a complete loss, should he hold Roger? Should he hug him? Should he do something? Roger wouldn't let anyone besides Mimi touch him after April… and then after Mimi, Roger didn't even want to be brushed up against much less have anyone hold him…. As he was still debating, Roger suddenly snapped out of his helpless hypnotic phase . He blinked a few times before looking -confused -down at a very worried Mark. The familiar concerned face was focused at Roger and the usual worry lines where once again deepening.

"Mark why.. Why the hell is your shirt off?" Roger looked down at his hands, blood was already starting to soak through the tattered t-shirt bandages.

"Rog are you okay?? I came home and found you on the sofa you were breathing heavily, sweating, and shaking violently, you" Mark swallowed then sighed, trying to relaxed a little "you wouldn't respond to me you just kept staring at your hands and shaking oh …. those marks on your hands are from your finger nails, uhm what happened when I was gone?" Roger found he could recollected most of the events prior to when he woke up, minus what the nightmare was about of course.

"I don't know.. after you left I, I went to sleep and I had a such a fucking horrible nightmare, I don't remember what it was about I .. I mean I've never had nightmares before and it was just so .. I couldn't snap myself out of it and even when I woke up I was still like….Stuck being terrified…" he trailed off . Mark sighed from relief more than anything, soon realizing how freezing he was shirtless with the lofts non existent heat.

"If anytime, today makes most sense for having nightmares" Mark reassured leaning against the couch and closing his eyes.

"Mark.. I can see your ribs" Roger commented as if he just became aware of the film makers condition. He could count Marks ribs, his skin was taught over his exhaust and worry ridden face, and was paler than usual. Mark sighed loudly again.

"Roger I've always been skinny" the last thing Mark needed was for Roger to be worrying about anything else… especially him. His friend had enough to deal with really, and Mark didn't want to be a contributing factor to that. He often felt guilty for snapping at Roger, for yelling at him or getting on his case for whatever reasons, he was just so desperate to convince Roger to live his life before it was too late… No, no he wasn't going to think about that . He refused to ever think or talk about what would happen when Roger left him. Well when Roger left everyone in his life not just Mark ..but well he would probably hurt the most about it…. Not that he was…. He meant Roger was his best friend, but he cared about him more…. No not like that, like a brother he…. Suddenly the image of the two men pressed up against the brick wall flashed before Marks shut eyelids.

"What the hell?" Mark jumped up , alarmed by the turn of nature to his thoughts .

"What? I was just saying that I could count your ribs…. that's more than skinny a lot skinnier than you should be Mark you should-"

"Roger" Mark interrupted firmly " you have enough to worry about I'm fine, really" Mark rubbed his eyelids, trying to excuse the uncomfortable shift of thoughts and the stammering on exhaustion.

"No Mark I will worry about you, you ALWAYS take care of me" Roger winced as the sentences escaped his lips. He always had that bit of guilt constantly nagging him. That guilt that said " Mark busts his ass for you, what are you doing for him ass hole?". the concern for his sickly best friend that had sprung upon him was sudden, but justified non the less, and although displays of any type of affection, especially since of late, were nearly impossible to coax out of Roger, he found he didn't really have a choice. He needed Mark to breath, weather he would use those exact words or not, and Mark.. Mark would never break a promise to Roger he would never leave him…

Right ?

No , no he wouldn't

It didn't matter anyway.

"And I'm kina worried about ….. Mark why is your face all flushed?" Mark stirred from his pensive state, still trying to make scene of his discomforting thoughts , to find a hot blush had crept up his neck and cheeks.

"Oh it's just… probably from coming in from the cold" Mark stammered, avoiding Roger's eyes as if they were the plague.

"Mark it's just about as cold in here as-"

"I'M gunna go to bed" Marks voice shrilly and noticeably cracked in the midst of interrupting Roger's accusation

"Mark whats-"

"Night" Mark cut Roger off shakily before swiftly making his way to his feet and disappearing into his bedroom. Roger breathed out slowly shutting his eyes and resting against the back of the couch . What was up with him? He got so nervous… well he was Mark, I mean, Mark stuttered, Mark got nervous, but usually never around Roger . And on the off chance he was uncomfortable, he was never so blunt about it as to act outwardly high strung so prominently. He could possibly just be suffering from the effects of his ill- like condition catching up to him. The rockers mind fluttered over to employment, owed money. He knew he had to get out and get some sort of job or gig soon, Mark hated buzz line, they were working him hard as hell lately and they didn't pay him much, and over half of the younger mans salary went to Roger anyway. He felt another wave of guilt at the realization he was being dead weight. The musicians thoughts began to wonder again, and he considered, for a few moments, questioning why it was he had so suddenly begun to open back up, something he hadn't done since before Mimi's death . He quickly decided against it though, for explanations and logical reasons had never been something he had been very fond of, or cared to try and figure out. He soon began to struggle attempting to, in anyway, recall any clue of what his nightmare could have been focused around …

What if it came back?

Rogers deep thought had led him into a borderline sleep trance, but at the thought of the nightmare Roger started, fully awake and aware once more. His hands ached, he was cold, he was hungry, and he was exhausted. He pulled himself up and sauntered into the bathroom, pulled off the bandages and examined his hands. The cuts where deep, each one, he estimated, had dug roughly a centimeter under his skins surface, and in the absence of the pressure the home made bandages provided, the cuts once again began to bleed. He continued to ponder what could possibly have been so horrific as he washed his hands and grabbed one of his own dirty T-shirts from the ground. He winced in pain while tearing it apart, but managed the task and tied both pieces entirely around his hands, trying to prevent anymore self infliction. He then wondered off to bed and settled for lying in the dark, staring at the ceiling. What if it came back ? What was it about? He was terrified of this unidentified terror possessing this sleep, but he was tired, his entire being begged for sleep, and their was always the off chance if the nightmare reoccurred he could at least recall what it was about. Roger closed his eyes and finally drifted off into a fight full, terrorized sleep.

* * *

Mark abruptly sat up in bed, sweating, panting

Panicking.

He ran his hands over his eyes and then, with lack of anything else to do, moved them to his head, and began yanking at his hair in an attempt to relieve his now mounting tension. He focused a blank gaze at the pitch dark that engulfed him, attempting to make sense of the currently distorted reality haunting his sleep hazed mind.

What the hell what the hell what the hell.

The phrase replayed in his mind and his lips eventually began to form them as well.. He became focused on his attempt to calm himself down, attempt to call the dream.. nightmare.. a misunderstanding, an odd figment of his imagination, a result of his over exhaustion.

That's all it was.

It meant nothing.

He leaned forward resting an elbow on his knee and holding his head in his hands. Mark had been able to dismiss his awkward thoughts last night after some consideration before he slept. He had been correcting the way he phrased something, which triggered his memory of a past event that day that was related. It meant nothing, just his mind at work. Mark had then fallen asleep, content with his answer.

That is until he started dreaming.

He was alone in the life support building, filming the empty chairs, narrating some sort of dramatic build up. When his camera rested upon Angel's chair, he delivered the climax, informing the camera that it was the anniversary of her passing . A wave of emotion had swept over him and he sat down, putting his head in his hands . Suddenly ,without warning, he began feeling a bit light headed . His ears were ringing faintly. As this feeling swept over him he had heard Angles voice, as if she was there, whispering softly in his ear.

"Mark sweaty, its me, it's Angel" Mark sat up rigidly, a look of udder confusing distorting his features as a shiver rundown his spine. "I just wanted to tell you , I'm fine Hun, and that I still love Collins and you all very deeply" Mark wasn't sure if he was going crazy, and although it was a great possibility he was speaking to himself, he needed to take the opportunity incase this really was Angel.

"Angel we all miss you so-"

"Sweetheart, I don't have much time, you just have to hear one last thing , you have to listen to me on this, okay? " Mark was getting surer with each word spoken that Angel really was speaking to him, he had no idea how or why, but he had been sure it wasn't just his imagination at work.

"Yeah, of course Angel"

" Sugar, you have to follow your heart, you should sit back for a moment and think about a few things, realize a few things, it may not seem impossible now, but you'll realize feelings that have really always been there, some that have been hidden even further down than behind your camera" Mark was now completely dumfounded , his romantically naïve mind began to churn, searching for the hidden meaning in Angel's words "I have to go Mark, love you, and give in to love or live in fear" and with that the invisible presence had disappeared, the ringing in his ears subsided as well as the feeling of lightheadedness.

" Angel , wait come back! What did you mean … Angel?" Mark was desperate , but he knew Angel had left, gone back to wherever the hell she came from. Realize something ? Realize what ? What HAD she meant ? A loud click sounded as the door shut, startling Mark from his dilemma.

"Mark, what are you doing here?" Roger stumbled in from the cold, he obviously hadn't expected to see anyone in the old run down building, and his eyes where puffy and red.

" I came to film some things in honor of Angel's…. in honor of Angel" Mark could never bring himself to speak of death unless absolutely necessary " And you ?"

"I uhh" Roger avoide his eyes like the plague, even if he happened to glance in Mark's direction, it wasn't actually at him, more like through him. "I come here to think sometimes….no one else is ever here usually.." Mark didn't really know how to respond to this, if there was even anything to say in this situation, so he kept quite. Roger settled down next to him and the two sat in silence for a few moments.

" What were you thinking about?" Mark turned to Roger who had been staring ahead, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. Roger just let out a single low laugh, one that almost sounded like a mere change in breath, but was distinguished by the slight raise of his shoulders , a laugh that implied he classified his own thoughts as absurd, yet somewhat unsettling.

"Nothing" He rested his head back and positioned his eyes away from Mark. "Nothing at all" for some reason, this answer had stirred up a restlessness within Mark, a burning desire to learn more. Usually he would just leave it at that, he'd learned better than to test Roger's temper and stubborn ways, but this, for some reason, he decided he could not let go.

"Well it had to be something semi- important if you decided to come all the way down here in the freezing cold" Rogers head remained rested against the back of the pew - like furniture as he closed his eyes and took in a heavy slow breath.

"It was nothing Mark, nothing important" Mark was getting anxious at this point

"If it wasn't important then you should have no problem telling me?" Mark fully expected Rogers temper to flail at this point, expected a few choice words to be thrown his way. But Roger, oddly, remained calm, although his discomfort was evident.

"please let it go Mark., it was nothing.."

"Yeah it was, tell me Roger, What are you so afraid of ? It can't be that horrible , I'm sure your just over reacting, I would never judge you anyway , you know that" Roger looked indecisively at the ground letting out a distressed breath.

"Yeah I know but it's just.."

"Please?" Mark threw Roger a mock puppy dog look. Roger smiled pulling his eyes off the ground and fixing them on Mark , who returned with a questionable gaze.

"I was just thinking about.." Was it just Mark or was Roger moving in closer? "about this" Roger then leaned in planted his lips on Mark's who was caught completely off guard. He was struck dumb for a few moments, but as realization set in, Mark started to return the favor, softly at first, but quickly becoming more needy, more passionate. Rogers tongue slid into Mark's mouth as Mark slowly pushed Roger back onto the bench , climbing on top of him, straddling the bigger mans hips. Mark took a moment to catch his breath as Rogers lips moved lower to explore Marks neck. He bit back a moan and ran his fingers down Rogers front, hovering at his jean line. Roger's lips came back in contact with Mark's as he slid his hands beneath Roger's waist line. Roger pulled his lips away and moaned lightly , bringing his fingers down into Marks own pants, dipping down into his boxers…

Then Mark woke up.

Mark started rubbing his eyes again, yanking nervously at his hair once more.

What the fuck, what the fuck ,what the fuck ,what the fuck, what the fuck ,what the fuck .

He groaned quietly in despair at awareness of the hardness between his legs. No, no that dream was way off base, it had to be, he didn't feel like that about Roger.

Not at all

he didn't feel that way about any other man for that matter. Defiantly. It was just a dream , he couldn't control his dreams right ? It was probably just from the stress of that day, seeing those two men while walking home, yeah that was it , it meant nothing.. .

Right?

But what about Angel ? The anniversary of her death had been last week, so it couldn't have meant anything.. Had he slept since last week ? Yeah some, barely, restlessly… but it didn't mean anything, he was an artist, artists have over active imaginations right ? Yeah that was it, nothing to worry about nothing at all. It meant nothing right? Yeah it meant nothing… why was he so nervous ? He realized just how drenched in sweat he was, how heavily he was still breathing.

But that was all purely from being nervous, he was sure.

Still unsettled and developing a hatred at himself for having such a dream…. Nightmare…. he wandered in the kitchen to make some tea, in hopes of calming himself. Fat fucking chance. He ended up sitting at the kitchen table chewing his thumb and strumming the surface with the fingers on his free hand. It was just a stupid little dream Cohen, calm your ass down, forget it, it was just a dream it meant nothing.

Nothing at all. **


	3. And You Say We're To Young

**A/n :** Alright Might as well start informing everyone of this now : I am not in any way shape or form one of those ass holes who is against homosexuality. Are you kidding me? The other day some ass hole called a gay couple 'fags' on the bus. In front of everyone. And knocked their stuff on the floor. And one of them was either sick or really upset about something, and his lover was trying to comfort him, so he was too busy to say anything really.  
I flew off the fucking handle to say the least, they kicked me off the bus which is kind of funny because I've only taken a bus alone one other time in my life  
Let's not get into what happened.  
Anyway, any hostile words Mark or Roger are thinking,or saying from this point on, are not because they are against homosexuals (OBVIOUSLY) but because they are really pissed at themselves for thinking/ feeling the ways they do. Also, don't take offence to any religouse terms used such as "Jesus fucking christ"  
If you haven't noticed yet, the chapter names are in a type of .. pattern if you will. Two chapter titles are actually to be put together as one phrase  
1rst chapter was : There's no such thing as tradegty 2nd was : I cant resent whats meant to be. Those are lyrics from the original Another day, which I found from the workshop version.  
This one is :And you say we're to young next: but maybe you're to old to remember. From a Vanessa Carlton song  
decided to begin posting every Wensday, and would **LOVE to thank ** **Superpuppy for commenting every chapter and be the first to put me in their favorites/ alerts.  
**Howev If I don't get at least two reviews ( besides from Supper puppy, although I still would adore to hear their feedback and appreciate them to no extent) might not post the next chapter until I do.  
Based on the amount of positive feedback, or feedback at all I'm getting, I don't think you guys are too desperate for me to continue.  
Might be a while  
- Mimi **

Warning : Offensive, controversial, etc etc

Disclaimer : We all know it's not mine.

**& You say we're to young **

*** " Jesus fucking Christ Mark, where the hell have you been?" Roger threw a pillow at his room mate as he slid the loft door shut.

"Whadayamean?" avoiding Roger, that's where he'd been. It had been five days since his unsettling dream, and Mark was still having trouble letting it slide. He'd been unable to look Roger in the eyes, and found he tended to blush while making normal conversation with his roommate. Every time his eyes rested upon his best friend the image came flooding back. It was hard to ignore

"what do you mean?" Roger mocked in a sing song voice " I mean the only time you've come home all week is around 1 A.M. to sleep, minus the past three days where I haven't heard from you at all Mark, you didn't come home once, you never called, no one in the gang knew where you were, I was-"

"Whoa Roger lay off, the little guy moved away from his mother , if we wanted the 3rd degree he woulda stayed at his old hell hole instead of moving to this one" A deep voice cut into Roger's ranting as Collins emerged from the 'kitchen'

" Collins!!!" Mark cried racing over to hug him " what are you doing here?"

"I had been meaning to come check up on you and mother dearest over there" Roger rolled his eyes and Collins laughed quietly before continuing " and when mommy called me having a panic attack , I decided now was as good a time as ever" Mark laughed and glanced over at Roger who slouched into the sofa's ratty cushions scowling .

"Well excuse me for giving a shit, at least I wasn't hyperventilating like Mr. film maker over there when I went out for one night a couple years ago" Roger murmured harshly, he never did handle being the center of a joke well.

" It was a week after …" Mark paused for a moment " April, you had already tried jumping off the fire escape, I thought you had gone off and finished it for real" Mark's voice was surprisingly flat when he recalled the event and for a moment he seemed lost to a distance in his eyes.

"We wouldn't want that now would we ?" Collins broke in, attempting to lighten the mood up once more. Mark caught Rogers eyes for a moment then quickly retuned his gaze to the floor, aware of his cheeks beginning to burn. " Now come along ladies, put your claws away and lets have us some drinking time!"

"Why does it seem every one of your visits end up in me getting drunk?" Mark laughed, following Collins back around the couch toward the kitchen table

"Because I want to get in bed with you" Roger had to laugh at the remark and the fact Collins, somehow, managed to keep a straight face as he commented. Mark laughed as well his, smile briefly fading as Roger's eyes captured his.

"I'LL come help you" Mark's voice cracked loudly as he frantically turned toward the kitchen.

"You ain't going through puberty again are you boy ?" Collins imitated Mark's shrill voice

" Shut the fuck up" Mark retorted and began searching the kitchen for cups. He zoned out as he was once again greeted with the images of Roger's pleasured face from his dream.

" Mark you listening to me?" Collins interupted seeming slightly amused by Mark's behavior.

"What, oh yeah, of course I was what were you saying?" Of course he had been listening, of course he wasn't picturing his best friend, who also happened to be a man, moaning as Mark shoved his fucking hand down his fucking pants,

no of course not

not at all.

" Boy you are way to tense, good thing I brought us plenty of options, vodka, whiskey, wine, rum, some other things I don't remember putting in the bag or ever drinking in my life." He only half joked, pulling bottle after bottle out of his black fabric bag.

" Boy did your face just get paler? Is that even possible?" Collins turned to Mark who wasn't responding, but staring at his feet " MARK"

Mark started, attempting to push the images from his mind and focus back on Collins

" I think you need to go sit in the other room while I prepare our drinking feast" The philosopher suggested , gesturing toward the main area of the loft. Collins Wasn't dumb, he knew Mark had something on his mind. He also knew Mark would never fess up to having difficulties, much less talk openly about his own emotions. And as for Roger ,well Roger always had things he was hiding and was always defensive about even the most trivial things. So this, Collins mused, would be a great opportunity to get both of them to talk, although non of the boys really needed an excuse to drink with each other. Mark complied to Collins earlier suggestion and silently retreated into the next room. He settled himself uneasily in a chair next to the sofa, where Roger was perched concentrating intently on his guitar.

" So what the hell is your problem ?" Roger questioned, surprising even himself with the amount of hostility in his voice.

" Huh ? Mark looked up at his best friend who was still directing his gaze at his cherry red fender.

" You've been out all week, your voice is shrill and cracking, which I know, is a sign you are extremely nervous and tense, your face is constantly flushed, and you cant even hold eye contact with me" Roger's great effort to sound as nonchalant as possible seemed to be working efficiently, although he really was far from calm. The truth was, when Roger couldn't get in contact with Mark for those few days, he was terrified the film maker had really meant it when he said he couldn't take it any longer, and had left for good. The rock stars terror quickly subsided though and he swiftly relapsed from his moment of weakness, having been fully recovered by the time Collins arrived. Roger refused to discuss his earlier near hysteria whatsoever, and the mention of Mark had made Roger's disposition quickly turn sour, although even he wasn't really sure why. But the fear was reasonable, Mark had been acting so strangely, avoiding Roger at all costs it seemed, and the younger man didn't seem to responding like this to Collins or anyone else for that matter. Roger could not, for the life of him, come up with any other justified rezoning to his best friends actions.

Mark was terrified. He question weather he would be able to keep his calm composer during this confrontation or not. In front of anyone else? Easily. In front of Roger, especially in this situation? Not so much. He fidgeted, struggling to find something normal to say and a casual way to say it. That sure as fuck wasn't working .

"Mark look at me" on instinct, Mark craned his head up meeting Rogers warm green eyes with his own aqua blue. Mark hadn't ever noticed really just how green his best friends eyes where, such a pure , fresh green, small speckles of brown and hazel laced in, so chilling to gaze into…. Mark blinked sharply . What the fucking hell Cohen ? What is your malfunction ? Would you stop the homo thoughts towards your best friend ? Pull it together, that's insane. Your just noticing his eye color that's all.

" What is wrong with you ?" Mark was still at loss for words, he still struggled yet could think of nothing to say.

"Maybe he's sleeping with some random hookers" Collins Barged in cheerfully

"or maybe he's in love with you"

Mark's eyes grew a half the size of his face before his cheeks blushed a crimson red. His eyes darted toward the ground quickly and he pulled his lower lip in between his teeth. The blonde man squeezed his eyes shut for a moment in order to regroup. Shit. Why the hell did Collins have to say that ? Why the hell did he have to blush ? Because that comment wasn't helping his already uncomfortable situation within his own thoughts, that's why. " I hope you boys are smart enough to figure out I was joking" the philosopher added laughing hardily and clinking together the bottles and bottles of drinks in his hands. Roger was slightly flabbergasted (A/n ha, I just had to use that word) Had Mark just blushed ? Well Mark always blushed at comments like that… but why so nervous ? Why couldn't Mark look him in the eyes?

Why was Roger over analyzing this in the first place ?

It was just his friends usual behavior he was sure, so why should he care? He decided to temporally forget about his struggles and have a good time drinking with his best friends, it wasn't often Collins came to visit, and Roger hadn't had anything fun to drink for at least a year and a half.

"Careful Collins, Mark can't handle a lot of alcohol" Roger playfully commented hopping up from his position on the couch. As if Collins didn't already know that. Everyone got a kick out of Mark when he was drunk, (which he almost never was) and out of the little alcohol it actually took to get him there.

"And Roger hasn't had a drink for over a year" Mark had managed to calm himself and was now growing somewhat comfortable " so us and our low alcohol tolerance levels should be pretty entertaining to you Collins" Mark grinned. They had cleared away the table and couch, and were all sitting in a circle on the ground.

" If I remember who you guys are by then" Collins laughed popping the cork of a bottle " which I doubt I will"

* * *

" Roger ? Hey Roger when… when did you get here ? Mark tipped his head to the side squinting his eyes at Roger " Are you a vampire ? Did you fly in as a batttt?? " Roger smacked his lips together and blinked slowly a few times before answering

"wait what ? Marky I didn't know you could fly , why didn't you tell me ? We coulda floweneded to Utah together" he then paused for a moment as if thinking " when you where gone this week, weren't you the umpire for the New York Yankees? Yeah I remember because I was talking to Kermit, you know Kermit right ? He's green ? I think he's and alligator or something and he said he talked to you and… wait ain't he a frog ?" Roger's lip curled up in a odd manner as he pondered this possibility.

"There's Sunday and there's Monday there's Tuesday and there's Wednesday there's Thursday and there's Friday and then there's Saturdayyy clap snap snap clap.. Oh wait I'm supposed to clap and snap not say clap snap… I'm so silly hey Roggy guess what I did?" Mark started laughing hysterically while Roger cast his line of vision to the bandages wrapped on his hands

" Markus, what did I look like when you found me on that deserted island ? These turtle bites are killing me.."

Collins sat off to the side, observing quietly. He was surprised he hadn't pissed himself due to hysterical laughter at this point, although it was still a possibility. The teacher had been careful to not actually drink anything yet, so he would have the advantage over the younger boys, a trick he had found useful on many occasions. Mark and Roger ,on the other hand, where tipsy after 4 glass and full out hammered after around 9 . At this point Collins figured they had each consumed, ignoring the dangers of mixing vast numbers of varied drinks, around three small bottles of Vodka, two bottles of rum, two glasses of wine, a bottle of whiskey and a tequila or two. And it was getting pretty fucking hilarious. Collins soon decided this was the time to get truths out of the boys, while they lacked any common scene or the ability to think straight, but before they passed out. Yeah, he knew some may think the plan was morally wrong ,but he thought it was genius. The large man quickly painted on a big smile and turned to Mark, how had decided to try and do the chicken dance sitting down.

"Hey Mark ?" he looked down kindly at the blonde little man who gazed back up at him

" Mark ? I thought I was Jesus ?" The blonde replied, his features distorting into confusion.

" Hey Mark can I talk with you for a sec?"

" Hey Collins! Nice to see you! Of course we can have a little chat… maybe I'll make some crumpets" Collins pulled Mark onto the couch which was up against the wall. Roger was to busy singing a Christmas carol to notice.

" Hey Mark you were pretty down in the dumps earlier huh ? " Collins spoke to him like he was a small child, holding his shoulders and redirecting Mark's focus on him every time the younger mans mind started to wander.

" you were very nervous and not very happy, why don't you tell me what's wrong ?" Collins suggested, and to eliminated any apprehension quickly added "I mean if you keep on pouting and don't tell me what wrong, I'll tell Santa clause to put you on his naughty list, you don't want to get coal do you ?" Mark grabbed his chin and rubbed it as if he were a wise man stroking his beard.

" No.. no I really would not appreciate that" He commented, then seemed to think as deeply as he was a capable of in his current condition before going on

"can Santa clause see into your dreams too ?" Mark asked , looking up at Collins with wide eyes of a young child's. Collins found it hard to hold back laughter at the tiny 21 year old Man giving him the eyes of a 8 year old

"Yes Mark, yes he can" Collins muttered sternly, coughing into his hand in an attempt to somewhat relive himself of the urge to break out into a fit of laughter. Mark started to giggle like a little girl

" Then I, kind sir, am getting coal" Collins gave him a quizzical look.

"Why is that Mark?" Mark giggled some more

"Because Collinssssss I am having dreams of Me and Roger having sex.. Duhhhhhh" Mark commented sounding quit like a 13 year old girl. Collins started slightly, and a bit taken aback, sat up rigidly hoping Mark would continue on with his confession. Collins had always been aware the boys subconsciously withheld romantic feelings for each other, hell it had always been so fucking obvious to him, so it wasn't that Mark's words were really a shock in themselves, he just hadn't expect the truth to dawn on either boy so soon. But it was as good a time as any he guessed. He found himself chuckling a little, remembering how determined Angel had been to get those two to realize how they really felt toward each other.

" I mean gee wilikersTommy boy, its kind of a surprise waking up in the middle of night and havea big boner sticking out after a dream about your best friend" Mark stopped giggling for a moment and turned somewhat serious " If you see god at the drug store again tell him to stop it, cuzzzzz that is a pretty big erection there and I was trying to sleeeeppp." Collins honestly wasn't quit sure how he was to respond to this, knowing Mark would rather shoot himself then confess any of this while sober. The anarchist honestly wished Mark would talk to him about such a dilemma when he was actually sober enough to remember his own name. Collins quickly dismised his thoughts though and averted his attention back onto Mark speaking kindly as possible

" Marky that was a good talk don't you think? Why don't you go sit back on the floor okay ?"

" Colllunsss" Mark slurred moving in close to the older man's face " don't tell Roger Kay? Cause I want the freaking sleep fairy to be the one to explainthis to him, not me " Collins smiled at Mark once again

" Sure thing buddy now go sit" Mark stumbled up off the couch before turning back to face Collins once more

"Hey tom? One last thing…. If you see god on the corner of 1rst and Amistad , where … where the west is all but won, if you see god there, alone , smoking a cigarette will you tell him this for me? repeat it exactly as I say it?" Collins nodded , he could tell where this was going. He laughed in spite of himself again when Mark broke into a pathetic, drunken, karaoke attempt " YOU FOUND ME YOU FOUND LYING INSECURE YOUR FOUND ME WHY YOU GO AND WHERE WERE YOU ,YOU WERE LATE, YOU FOUND ME , YOU FOUND ME" Collins was quiet impressed with the fact he managed to maintain a calm composer despite the fact his ribs ached with the effort of restricting laughter

"Will do buddy, will do"

Collins returned to where the boys where was sitting and once again asked sweetly if Roger could come over to the sofa with him. Roger leaned in close squinting his eyes.

" Your, your not captain Ahab ?" the rocker sat thinking for a few more moments " did he ever catch that Man with the moldy dick he was after ?" It was, once again a miracle Collins was able to keep a straight face while sitting Roger down, and trying to convince him to confide into himself. Roger sat staring at wall as if contemplating for a few moments before turning back to Collins

" Well I guess you do deserve to know since you put up that lovely new wallpaper" He cracked his knuckles and continued

" well last week I was like, upset since like you know April and Mimi became dead that day and like…then Mark like we got in a fight and Mark like said he couldn't like handle what I did to myself or something so then I got like really nervous because like he's never said that and we like went through like all that cow shit together so I was like nervous and like then I went to sleep and….. wait I already toldeded you about not remembering the nightmare silly goose your silly"

"Yes Roger, yes I am, now did anything else happen? " Collins had to turn Rogers head to refocus him on their conversations.

He had been staring at Mark

"Then Mark came home and we where like… sitting and like talking and then I noticed how skinny he was like then he like opened his eyes and like got all like nervous and his voice like made that funny noise and then he like went to bed…. He has really pretty blue eyes , did you ever notice that ? Maybe I should write a pretty song about it" Collins felt his throat constrict.

"Maybe you should, now go sit back down okay? Be careful getting up " Collins sighed as Roger stumbled away. Both the boys where basically homophobic at this point , neither of them realized anything , much less would they admit any emotions toward each other if they did. Collins broke from his pensive state, stood to join the boys and found himself hammered beyond remembrance after an hour .The three drunken men engaged in a game truth or dare at some point, a game they probably would have regretted,

If only they could have remembered it

* * *

Roger awoke the next morning dazed and curios as to where the hell he was. He tried to raise himself from his uncomfortable position but was forced back down when a splitting pain shot through his head. His mouth tasted like shit, his eyes didn't want to open and he ached all over. He remembered, with a certain dread, that this was a hangover, a once familiar and regular feeling to him. What had happened last night? He didn't really remember anything that had occurred after his 8th drink, except for singing a few gospel songs, smashing some plates on the floor in honor of all of Marks missed Jewish celebrations, pissing in a soda can, duct tapping a shoe to the wall, and kissing Mark. Roger breathed out heavily and slouched back down onto the sofa armrest. **Kissing** Mark ? His eyes shot open in alarm . He groaned loudly as his thoughts began to whirl. He hadn't actually kissed Mark, had he? He really wasn't sure, It was entirely possible both he and Mark tended to do pretty insane things when they were drunk, but never with each other. He vaguely remembered Collins cheering in background, bottle of vodka secured in his hand.

He remembered leaning in and feeling Marks lips touch his own.

Shit.

No it couldn't be, he wouldn't do that, no matter how drunk he was .

Goddamn drinking, he'd really don't it this time.

No, maybe not though, he could just be creating scenarios in his head, recalling a dream.

It probably didn't happen.

He decided even if it did, they where all so drunk beyond judgment that it was almost like it had never occurred at all.

Which he was sure it didn't.

He was sure he would remember something that important. The Rocker let out another muffled sigh and managed to stagger to his feet and observe his whereabouts. He was standing in the main area of the loft, which was more trashed than usual, a feat he had never thought to be possible. He found Collins passed out in Mark's room, half his body daggling off the bed . He felt a chuckle rising but quickly suppressed it by the demand of the shooting pains plitting his forehead. He then came to realize how horribly off light weight Mark would be, for the filmmaker didn't handle alcohol even half as well as Roger could. He searched around for his best friend, and discovered him passed out in the bathtub . He smiled at how ridiculous his friend looked and at the soft noises escaping his dreams. His grin quickly threatened to turn to hysterical laughter upon listening more intently to his friends sound effects.

Was Mark making sex noises in his sleep?

He laughed a little in spite of himself, since when did Mark have wet dreams ? He examined his best friend a little longer, at that point 100% sure he hadn't touched Mark's lips.

* * *

Mark once again woke in a panicked sweat. What the fuck was wrong with him? He let out a frustrated sigh examining his surroundings. Was he in the bathtub? The filmmaker struggled to a sitting position, resting his back against the wall for support. He must have gotten drunk last night, he concluded after some thought, since he remembered absolutely nothing. He was a light weight, yet never got hangovers, just complete memory loss when he drank heavily. He did, however, remember his dream. Mark closed his eyes and dug his teeth into his lower lip. Shit, why did he have to remember the dream? Why did he keep having dreams like that ? He groaned in remembrance, he had to be seriously fucked up. This time Roger and him had been alone in the loft, and this time he didn't wake up until they had gone all the way. Mark smashed his head against the wall.

Shit shit shit.

C'mon Cohen, he snapped at himself, pull it together. Mark sighed, and massaged his temples in an attempt to relieve himself of the tremors raking his body. Alright Cohen lets think about this for a second he rationalized. The dream probably came back since its been on your mind so much lately, and probably because of how fucking hammered you were. He concluded that if he forgot about and ignored the dream, it would stop occurring all together. I made sense really, it was nothing more or less than his mind at work after an intense night of drinking.

Oh yeah last night.

The film maker scratched his forehead trying desperately to remember anything from the night before. His memory failed him about his 6th drink , he did notice however, if his available memory was serving him correctly, that Collins really hadn't seemed drunk at all while Roger and him had been stumbling around, slurring their words. He felt his heart skip a beat at that thought.

The trick they used to use on Roger.

Had Collins took advantage of him while he was drunk ? Had he forced information out of him? Damn it how could Mark be so retarded ? Him and Collins used to use that exact technique on Roger all the time when he used to be a junkie. They would find out all kinds of things, what he had done that night, who he had seen, how much he shot up, who he got drugs from, about his feelings he never talked about, etc etc. God fucking damn it what did Collins know? What did Collins remember?

You really did it this time Cohen Stupid , stupid, fucking stupid.

He let out an exasperated grunt and tried to calm himself and push away the possibility. Collins wouldn't remember anyway. Once his shaking hands had steadied and his breathing has slowed back to normal he pulled himself up and staggered to his feet . His neck was extremely sore from the position he had slept in, and only god knew what the hell was on his shirt. He quickly changed his clothes and found his way into the kitchen where Roger and Collins were seated over mugs off Coffee.

"Hey sleepy man, how you doing this fine morning ?" Collins asked cheerfully , looking up from his coffee

" Must you talk so loud ?" Roger murmured placing a hand on his forehead. Collins just laughed , raising his voice to a yelling tone

" IS THIS ANY BETTER ROGER?" Roger kicked Collins shin under the table.

" Fuck off." Mark took a seat across from Collins

"I'm feeling fine, not like I remember anything and my neck is sore as hell from sleeping in the bathtub , but I'm fine…. since when do we have coffee? Or anything to drink it in? or water to make it with?" Roger massaged his temples vigorously and closed his eyes.

"Oh yeah I forgot , that little bitch over there never gets hangovers, he just completely forgets all events that happened" thank god, Roger added in his head. Just in case it really had happened, Mark wouldn't remember.

But it hadn't happened , he was sure of it.

"I brought the coffee with me, and a few other things, thinking you boys could use some of it. I also paid to put your plumbing back on." He took a sip of coffee and continued "Me and sunshine over there woke up with killer hangovers and decided to wait until you woke up to start vomiting our guts out, which shockingly hasn't happened yet" Roger chuckled quietly

" Your coming up with some great name for me this visit aren't you Thomas?"

" Only ones that fit you mommy dearest" Roger laughed again and then turned to Mark who was fiddling with his shirt

" So Mark have any wet dreams last night ?" Roger smiled slyly . Mark sat up rigidly but remanded silent only, throwing Roger a confused glance.

"I walked in the bathroom this morning and you where passed out in the bath tub making freaking sex noises in your sleep" Collins, who had been drinking his coffee, snorted loudly , spewing droplets of the dark liquid and his own spit around kitchen.

" Collins what the fuck?? If you have to puke man do it in the bathroom!" Roger commented, quickly becoming agitated and wiping coffee off himself. Collins gave Mark a knowing look, glanced at Roger and then back at Mark.

The film maker felt his stomach drop and a quick wave of nausea sweeping over him.

Shit , shit , shit 1000 times shit. What did he know, what did he know.?

Mark returned Collins gaze with a wide eyed pleading expression to 'just keep your fucking mouth shut'

"yeah.. Yeah will do man" Collins murmured absently not allowing Mark, who averted his own blue eyes to the ground, to escaped his line of vision

"Well now what's this all-" Rogers face suddenly distorted "shit" he murmured before bolting through the door, towards the bathroom. Mark closed his eyes for a moment, drew in a breath, and attempted to collect himself .

" Collins, what do you know?" Marks voice shook a little and Collins sighed , meeting Mark's tense gaze

" I know enough"

" What do you know?" Mark's voice was far more firm this time, and he was, evidently, quiet agitated. Collins almost never saw Mark like this, the only time Mark ever acted like that towards him, he realized somewhat with amusement, was when he was defending Roger, which happened regularly. But there was never a hostile note between himself and Mark , the filmmaker trusted the long time friend with his life. Collins remained fixed on Marks features, twisted in a distressed and forceful way.

"I know this isn't your first… dream and I know what… who they are about" The anarchist was apprehensive, andchose his words carefully, as not to scare the younger man from the fragile topic he was so unwilling to accept. Mark leaned back in his chair looking exasperated , mumbling under his breath

"Fuck, I should have known fucking better than to fall for the 'get them drunk' thing.." Collins debated with himself for a few moments, and decided now was as good a time as any to try and convince Mark to talk about his current situation.

"Mark it's perfectly fine, If you -"

"Collins" Mark cut him off sharply " I do not want to talk about it"

Collins was again a bit surprised at his friends defensive behavior, but was fairly determined to get him to talk

" But Mark-" He was interrupted by the harsh sound of Mark slamming his hands down on the table . The almost always level headed man pushed his chair back and swiftly made his way out of the room, across the loft , and into his own bedroom shutting the door behind him Roger entered the kitchen, giving Collins a questionable look

" What was that dramatic exit about?" Collins massages the bridge of his nose

"Nothing , just a conversation we had last night " He then paused giving Roger a moment to sit back down. " speaking of last night, that conversation WE had, if you remember ?" Roger propped his arms up on the table, resting his chin on his fist.

" No Collins I can honestly say I do not remember having a specific conversation with you last night" Collins continued casually, hoping that this confrontation wouldn't also end up back firing on him

" I do believe the reason for the occurrence of your night mares" he began " Was the fact that you were nervous about Mark saying he couldn't take it anymore" Collins examined Rogers face, waiting for his features to distort into some odd angry manner, but the usually defensive short tempered man remained calm meeting Collins eyes with his own, surprisingly, calm green orbs.

" Tom, I really don't remember what the nightmare was about , and it hasn't occurred since then, so we should just drop it, it was most likely about.." He swallowed hard " April or Mimi anyway" Collins knew what a very touchy and sensitive subject this was, and was satisfied with the fact he got even that much out of the rocker. They sat in silence for a few moments, before Roger broke in " What's wrong with Mark lately ? He's been acting so weird, especially around me" Collins snorted quietly

" He's just realizing some things…. Something you should think about" Roger gave him a clueless look

" Like?" Collins snorted again

" Just forget it boy" he sighed " just forget it" ***


	4. But Maybe You're Too Old To Remember

**A/n: **Wow so much for posting on wednesday huh ? I just haven't had the time, in fact if my best friend didn't like to sleep so late I probably wouldnt have gotten any editing or posting of this story done. But glee ends next week so I will be able to regulate my posting. But I feel horrible for making you guys wait and for leaving you hanging like I did at the end of ths chapter, so I am going to post two chapters today :D Alright I know You can get drug flashbacks but I'm not sure if you can from Herion. I'm also unsure, but doubt to a very high extent you can have withdrawel flash backs. In my little world you can. Also, not sure about the symptoms of anxiety/ panic attacks nor am I sure exactly what causes them. If you know about either of these subjects, leave a comment for I am very intrested in learning about them. I know they both seem kind of weak and girlish in this chapter. Well I think so anyway. But the condition Roger is in and what they've been through the breaking point has to be drawing near. And the effects of holding everything in ? Alot of this story's content demonstrates what happens. I should know. I need _**atleast**_ 3 reviews to continue since I am posting two chapters.

But maybe you're to old to remember

** "MARK!" Mark's eyes fluttered open, had someone just called him? He rolled over pulling his glasses on and examining his bed side clock 2:30 A.M.. silence settled back over the loft as Mark started to develop a slight hatred for himself at the possibility the screaming of his name could have been from his dreams, the ones he had been having regularly and were having him question why they couldn't just leave his mind at peace, why they had to keep coming and making him feel awkward around his best friend . (A/n Woahh run on sentence much?) He propped himself up onto his elbows , listening intently. Sounds of the city echoing below, and the soft buzzing in hears were the only other disturbance , it seemed, to be corrupting the silence

" MARK!"

The film maker started visibly as the desperate plea resounded once more. At the realization this haunting sound was erecting from non other than Roger, he hastily pulled himself out of bed. A wave of nausea and panic woke his scenes, stirring a certain acuteness that only occurs in the presence of adrenalin and fear. He hurried his way through the un kept loft, stumbling by the familiar shapes now distorted by the low moonlight. The dull glow of flashing signs and natural light reflecting through the large main window, revealed the ghostly figure of Roger, turned on his side and clutching his legs to his chest. His body was heaving with tremors and his tense shaking limbs were coated in a thick layer of sweat, giving off an eerie recollection of his experiences battling withdrawal.

" Roger?" Mark crept over to the side of the bed and lay a hand on Roger's arm " Roger what's wrong?" The rocker lay still for a few more moments before craning his neck up and resting his gaze upon Mark, who's features were once again fixing themselves with the familiar look of worry they often held.

" I …. I don't know" Another violent shudder ripped through his muscular body " I woke up, and I felt like I used to feel when I was high" He took in a shaky breath " It was the exact feeling Mark, there is no other feeling like that, non that I've experienced.. And it, it lasted for about the time it used to when I was… using" Mark examined him up and down, his blue eyes reflecting in a soothing , concerned manner. " and then suddenly it… it wore away" His quivering became more violent , causing his breath to regulate to short intervals "and….and I .. I feel.. li…...like ….I… am going.. ..Th th through ..withdrawal…..a….again " Mark winced visibly as pleading green met desperate blue. And although every instinct in Mark was screaming, although he felt he was going to be sick and his heart was going to beat out of his chest and the pain in his head was going to suffocate him, he held stealthy to his rock composer as he was so accustom to. It was hard to reassure someone else when you couldn't even reassure yourself.

"I think I read about this somewhere… it seems like a drug flashback, but I didn't know you could get them from heroin…" He paused. THAT word. His chest became tight and his throat tingled from the speaking of that word. " and I didn't know you could get withdrawal flash backs"

" M-m-mark" Mark grimaced at the sound of the broken voice, the hollow hopelessness, the eyes vaguely reflecting with a drip of hurt, a distorted haze of emotion " Mark I can't do this again, I can't .. I cant deal with the pain, with the desire with the helplessness, I lost my dignity when I went through that… and that's one of the only things I have anymore.. I cant… lose it again" Roger drew in another, quivering breath " and more important than anything I cant stand to … to hurt you like I did again, to make you suffer for my fuck ups, I can't stand to see your face age with wrinkle lines, the haziness clouding your eyes becoming thicker each day, your body growing frail ,worry ridden every moment , I wouldn't be able to live with myself again, knowing that no matter how much pain physical I'M in your in much, your dealing with just as much possibly even deeper, and it's my fault, I couldn't stand not to be able to control myself again, hurting you with words and my fists" Roger flinched, realizing the faint scars still left on the pale taunt skin.

Scars he left.

"and I couldn't bare ever hurting you like that ever again… putting you through all this shit just because I manage to fuck everything up…even though I manage to find shit to put you through everyday it seems" Mark closed his eyes, letting a shaky breath from his own nose. How that stung, how those words coming from such a broke voice, the voice that was regularly strong and stone hard, emotionless or hollowly masking any emotion that existed. As we grow older, and are aware of the bonds we are forming, we almost always have that one person. The strong one. And although you may technically be stronger than them, you rely on the fact that they will remain acting as if they were a wall, will prevent breaking down, who becomes almost invincible within our mind because they, it seems, are made of steel. When we are young, it is often our parents, as we grow older the position might be shared, or the circumstance will change and a new super hero becomes our rock. But when that one, that super hero, that rock, that wall, the one we rely on, the strong one, when they break it leaves us in panic. It leaves us in dismay and helplessness and terror and hurt. And maybe in the back of our mind we knew it was inevitable, behind everything we suspected it. But maybe we didn't.

Mark felt a shudder tear through his own body. That voice that was his savoir, his world, that voice that he heard in his dreams… Mark snapped his eyes open , don't you fucking dare Cohen, not now, Jesus fucking Christ not now.

" Roger .. I… it's not" Mark couldn't bring himself to deny that it had hurt him, the physical side effects to Roger's rage hadn't affected him in the least, but seeing Roger like that, even being aware he was in that condition and why, it had killed him. " Roger, it's where I chose to be… its what I chose to do, although when you think about it, it wasn't much of a choice, because I could never give up on you" Mark's voice was strained. It had become so difficult for him to show emotion after all this time , he wasn't quit sure he remember how. This lead him to wonder, also if Roger was really conscious of what he was saying or if, some how, the flashbacks and delusions had taken over. He was sure something similar had to be the case, for Roger would never confess such things under normal circumstances. Never. " I didn't care if you hurt me, if you punched me, if you said bitchy things to me, or whatever , because it would hurt me a lot fucking more watching you slowly die , to know that I could have done something.. I just couldn't let that happen I just …" Mark halted mid sentence, the realization he was stuck at a cross road at the moment dawned on him, for he had the choice to either stop his own confession and change the subject which may prove difficult, or admit how Roger meant the world to him…. Well not like that , but you know more like they were closer than brothers…. Well no not CLOSER like Mark cared so much more about him… no, no ,no that sounded wrong he didn't mean for it to…. Damn it Cohen. " Its not like I could ever give up on you, you matter too much to me… well no not like that, but well … I mean you know what I mean like.." Mark felt his face turning hot. Smooth, real smooth you fuck wad (A/n ha I love that word).

Roger attempted laugh slightly, but the pain in his chest caused the sound to evolve into more of a trembling choked whimper.

"Calm your ass Mark, I get it" And he did understand yet it didn't feed the hunger to be sure Mark needed him just as much as he needed Mark … whoa that sounded homo.. He Hadn't meant… now he knew how Mark felt when he stuttered like that.

"And it's not like you lost your dignity when you went through withdrawal…. that's when you got it back, when you quit the drugs, when you fucked them off even with the overwhelming temptation and the desire, you might think it was all me because I forced you , but you could have easily snuck out and gotten more, I couldn't stay awake constantly like I wished I could" Mark smiled "but you didn't and-"

" Mark?"

" Yes Roger?" The sudden gentle pleading in the rockers voice sent chills down Mark's spine

" Mark, what did you do when I went through withdrawal before? because I'm at a breaking point here, Whatever you did please, help me now" Mark thought about this for a moment.

" you usually didn't want me around you, not like I listened, I was by your side most of my waking hours, but you wouldn't let anyone touch you…."

" Mark could you just… could you just stay in here with me please?" Roger's trembling, at this point , was causing the whole bed to shake.. He was so helpless, so in need of someone…. Mark , despite his udder and complete discomfort, despite the fact his mind was starting to wonder to places it shouldn't be, despite the fact he was terrified of his own unsure ness, couldn't bring himself to leave Roger. He wasn't about to abandoned him, leave him another reason to be bitter in a life already full of it's presences. He was still reluctant, however , at what he should do, what was obviously being implied he should. But all his apprehension faded almost instantly when he caught another glance at the desperate , shivering heap that was Roger. He quietly pulled up the covers next to his best friend, stopping every few moments to be sure he wouldn't protest, and slid in next to him. He then, reluctantly, draped an arm over the sickly mans waste . An action to witch Roger thrust himself back, leaning entirely into Marks embrace.

Shit Roger, Mark thought, don't do this, c'mon Cohen don't let your own mind do this, your just comforting him, you held him and comforted him more than once in the past. But this wasn't the same, he realized, in the past it had been awkward , which to Mark it was very much was now, but it had been in a different sense , it had been different before, he thought, because it felt like Roger didn't want to be there, it felt like he didn't belong there, that neither of them had the desire to be in such close contact with each other, like it was forced.

But this time, Mark concluded, it was awkward for it felt right, it felt Roger was supposed to be there, they were supposed to be entwined into each other, and they were somewhat willing to let that happen.

And Mark was scared, to put it lightly, more like terrified, but that even, was an understatement.

He struggled to lull himself into a state of self reassurance, of relaxation, but the constant unidentified nagging in the back of his mind was proving this task difficult. Mark settled for just lying there, his body begging for the sleep he was often deprived off , but he was much more concerned , much more concentrated on the battle happening between his right mind, and his own emotions. Not that he would ever admit to anything being stirred up within him, not that he'd ever give in to whatever it was nagging the back of his mind. He groped around in the dark inside himself, struggling to find another excuse, anything to explain himself,

not that anyone had asked him too.

He just needed to prove to his own mind, his own being that whatever was trying to force itself out of him, wasn't actually there, it was all a figment of his imagination.  
Which he once again convinced himself was true.

Roger twisted his positions in Mark's arms. Why was Mark so tense ? His discomfort and anxiety was so evident it felt almost as if it hung heavily in the air. Roger wasn't and idiot, he knew Mark had been hiding something from him, it had to be pretty bad, because they never hid anything from each other. Scratch that , they never hid anything but emotion from each other. But that wasn't personal, they both hid emotions from everyone, including themselves. But still, sometimes the emotion spilled out, and they only dared to let that happen in front of each other because, after all, they were best friend.. Roger sighed , remembering what Collins had said to him a few weeks ago " he's just realizing some things, something you should think about" He still couldn't figure out what it meant. Collins knew something he didn't, something Mark didn't, and the funny thing was it was probably something he knew about each of them they didn't know about themselves. Collins had that power, especially when it came to his closest friends, to read you, to see right through you no matter how hard you tried to fight it off, he knew everything and anything, even if you didn't. Roger with lack of anything else to do, began listing the possibilities in his head : It could be about who he was and what he really wanted, could be trying to deal with his emotions, could be noticed something in his life worth changing,  
could be that he was gay,  
could be that he could be realizing someone he loved deep down,

could be realizing that was Roger….

WOAH stop right there Davis, he intervened, hold it hold it and just whoa, where did that change of thoughts come from ? He felt a knot tie in his stomach, he NEVER had experienced thoughts such as that … well he had never even considered such possibilities long enough for similar scenarios to play out in his mind. His heart skipped a beat as a image, a memory flashed through his mind, of sitting on the floor in the loft , bottles scattered in all directions, Collins hazy and drooping eyes fixed upon him.

" Okay okay… wait my turn ? Okay okay you, white boy over there…. Uhmmm… foger… coger.. Roger ! Yeah Roger, .. Oh hey Roger how have you been? Oh okay I dareee you toooo.. Kiss him… uhm MARK yeah Mark." Mark unfocused eyes rested on the older man

" Who do I kiss ? Oh him? But I kiss people with vaginas Collinnssss" He then surveyed Roger " He is kind of cute though-" He was cut off as Roger had pushed his lips up against Mark's harshly, their tongues venturing into each others mouths for a few moments before Mark pulled away

" This seems familiar…" he once again began rubbing his chin with index finger and thumb. Collins started giggling " ooooooo I only asked you to kiss , I didn't say nothing about makingg outttt, Roger's got a boyfriends, neener neener neener" he mocked as if he were a 5 year old girl. Roger was awestruck as fire danced through his lips and down his body, as a spark seemed to ignite within his chest, as a alarm seemed to ring out in his head. And fore a brief moment, although it defied all laws of science and reasoning (although love usually does) his drunken mind became focused, (you could even call it sober) and regained its ability to comprehend. He had just kissed Mark, and it had felt well amazing, better than any other kiss he'd had with the 100's of girls he had them with. It felt different.

It felt right .

But, this moment of self-awareness was short lived and in matter of moments he had relapsed back to his beyond drunk state of mind.

Roger shuttered as the memory faded. There was no denying that, was there ? It could just be his imagination he reasoned, or something else, anything else, there was no proof it actually happened like that, or that it happened at all. He raked his brain, trying desperately to find any excuse , but came up with non. Oh well, he was drunk, he didn't know, God, it was Mark, his little scrawny, nerdy, film making, Jewish, best friend Mark. He couldn't ever feel more than friend ship for him, he wouldn't ever want to hold him or be held in his arms like he was now ever again, he wouldn't want to run his fingers through that baby fine, blonde spiked hair, or ever want to slip his tongue down his throat again, he could never want to feel Mark's soft lips upon his again,or pull his shirt over his head, he would never want to pull his pants down, never want Mark to move his fingers down and feel… FUCK Roger jolted violently in shock, in response to his own thoughts, where the hell had that been going ? And more importantly

why had his mind wanted to go there ?

Its just you worrying over nothing Roger, he tried reassuring himself . It wasn't working. He had never felt so uncomfortable in his own mind. Let it go Davis, it was nothing, he's just Mark he's just your friend, nothing more nothing less, you just care a ton about him.

Because after all, they were best friends.

* * *

Roger sat at the table, examining Mark who was digging around, attempting to find something to eat in their often stark kitchen. Mark was bent over, his back towards Roger, his ass sticking in the air. Great Roger thought, just the image he needed in his head. He squinted his eyes a little gazing at Mark's small body, his firm ass, and as he turned around, his blue eyes, his attractive face (alright he admitted to himself, fucking hot face) and listening to his voice witch had a hazy touch of gravel hidden beneath its clean cut sound " Well, we have 3 god- knows- how -old doughnuts and a box of I -don't -know -what -the- fuck- it- used -to -be Chinese food." Mark smiled like some sort of television host, making exaggerated hang gestures "the question is, which one will make us sicker?" Roger laughed, hoping Mark would too, he wanted to see that smile.. Roger you have to stop this, he cut into his own thoughts sharply, this is Mark, why do you keep having thoughts like this about him? It had gotten worse as the week progressed, thoughts in this nature recurring more often, causing him to become uncomfortable with his own mind. Fantastic. No matter how much he wanted to pass them off as nothing, no matter how he tried for an excuse, he couldn't find a way to escape. Even if he did finally believe that it was over with, that nothing was happening, Mark would enter the room and Roger would be battling with himself again. Almost everything Mark did lately had seemed sensual in one way or another to Roger. He needed a day away, just to think a few things over, maybe allow his mind to explore a few possibilities that where getting hard to deny, no matter how much he wanted to.

" I uh… I don't want anything" He was still somewhat absorbed in thought " I uhmm I'm gunna go for a while, I uhh I need to think a few things over , I'll be back later" He pushed away from the table and headed toward the door, grabbing his leather coat . Mark was somewhat confused, which must have shown on his face

" Oh.. Uhm okay where are you going ?" " Roger shrugged on his jacket reaching out to slide the door open

" Oh just to the old life support meeting place, the community center , I go there sometimes… whenever I need to think about anything , no one knows and no ones usually there.. Be back whenever" Mark felt his heart drop to his, Had Roger ever told him that he went there before ? No.. no he didn't, Mark was sure of it… but his dream… and the same words had even played out in his mind…. "I come here to think, no one's usually here" Mark shuddered, a chill shooting down his spine. He settled into a seat and began fiddling with his hands, something he did on the rare occasions when his camera wasn't settled into them.

What was Roger thinking about ? Oh god did he know about Marks feelings? Wait Mark stopped himself, what feelings ? He had non more than love for his best friend… well brotherly love not love, love, not like wanting to fuck like in his dreams love.. Like….. HOW MANY FUCKING TIMES WAS HE GOING TO DO THAT? He clenched his jaw, staring down at his quivering hands, different scenarios, possibilities started running through his mind, and this time he was finding in truly difficult to push them away. His heart began to beat faster, and he felt his body begin to over heat. When his limbs began to shake, he recognized this as the first signs of a panic attack, Something that hadn't happened to him since he was about 8 years old. He needed to calm himself down with something, he was going crazy it felt like, and he knew nothing natural would do it. He couldn't sit still, he couldn't breath, nothing would be able to settle his frantic being , no amount of filming, of sitting, of thinking, of breathing. He didn't want to think right now,

he didn't want to feel.

At this point, the symptoms of the attack were worsening. He couldn't move, his shaking became more violent. And then the worst possible occurrence, He felt memories push their way into his head.  
Memories that had long been buried in an attempt to forget, bruises that had long since been hidden in a hope that they weren't actually there. Memories of his angry father and the blood and bruises that followed his growing obsessions in drinking, the time he was pushed down the stairs, the times he sat in his room, listening to his parents screaming, glass shattering, until silence in acceptation to the heavy footstep making their way closer, up the stairs. His older sister racing into Mark's rooms, throwing her body over Mark's, screaming, refusing to let their father come near small, innocent, young, bruised and cut Mark . The shrill screaming, him climbing out the window, his moms hospilization and then

his sisters funeral.

His sisters funereal.

If only he hadn't run off, if he'd stayed and protected her like she protected him, she'd be alive right know, he knew, she'd be smiling that big beautiful smile, would probably have the family she always wanted. That smile that he had loved like the good mother he never had, the smile like April's and Mimi's. He witnessed all those smiles die, all their faces frozen purely in fear, reflecting their last few moments, he had seen all those no longer existent smiles caked in blood. He remembered times he was beaten in school, sitting alone, he remembered protesting the awful feeling of the naked man up against him, and the sharpness of razors over his arms which left scars he still tended to try and hide, he remembered holding a gun to his head, remembered standing at the edge of a bridge…  
he remembered Roger saving him, Roger pulling him away from the bridge, remember Roger talking him out of theses things. Cool bad ass Roger, sticking up for him, which always worked, since back then, what Roger said went. He remembered Roger punching Mark's dad out once. He remembered staying at Rogers for days at a time. Roger had no father and his mom was also a alcoholic but not a violent, just a neglectful one. Roger was only aware that Mark's old man smacked him a few times, he had no idea about any other thing that had occurred in Mark's past. He remember Roger pulling up in a crappy old car on graduation day, both their things already packed. Roger had dropped out and ran off to New York City a year ago, but was back to save Mark, who was forever grateful. Roger already had them a place, this place, this loft. Roger… closed in, shut off, yet loving, Roger… green eyed long haired Roger… complicated heart throb musician Roger…

Bright lights, a honking horn drifting from the streets below. Mark snapped out of his thoughts and looked around in a haze. He was in the bathroom he realized, as a sudden feeling of calm and relief spread over him.

He wondered why that was so, until he then looked down , with horror, at the empty syringe and needle poked into his vein. ****


	5. There's A Fine, Fine Line Between Love

**A/n:** Okay one again I will inform you any brutal refrences to homosexuality are NOT my opinon in the least. I could go on. But anyway yeah I'm drawing a blank on anywitty comments to make so yeah.

**Disclaimer**( forgot last time): I would give anything to have a mind as Jonathan Larson's was. But I did not create nor do I own RENT.  
**Warning** (forgot this too): Everything in my writing is 'inappropraite'.

**There's A Fine, Fine Line Between Love**

"Fuck" Roger heard Mark's distressed voice float in from the main room. He set his guitar down and ventured into the main living area to find Mark biting his thumb, a nervous habit of his, staring at the answering machine.

"Hey what's wrong?" Roger asked leaning against the door frame . Mark groaned and gestured toward the answering machine "see for yourself" the film maker muttered clicking the button

"MARK" came a sing song perky voice " Marky its mom, pick up the phone, are you screening your calls? Sweetie your Father and I are going to come up to visit in a week, okay ? Please call me back A.S.A.P. we cant wait to see you! Love you!"

" Shit" Roger hissed through clenched teeth " the last thing I want is that fat bastard anywhere near you" Mark gave him a bit of a surprised look, Roger usually had a very fucked up way of showing he cared for people, he never just came out and said things like that " why are you giving me that look? The last time I saw that son of a bitch I had to punch him out because he decided to be a fucking jack ass and try and hurt you , he can burn in fucking hell" Mark was still somewhat taken aback from this obvious display of affection, and was lost for words until he noticed Rogers almost non existent fingernails shoving into their familiar grooves in his palms, a habit Roger had formed subconsciously.

"Roger your finger nails…"

" What? Oh" he lifted his hands up to examine them " well you stopped me before I bled again" he commented , rubbing the sore spots forming on his palms ( A/n this is an odd little habit I have formed, so I decided to give it to Roger. I'm so nice) "that fat bastard just pisses me off so much, how fucking dare he hurt you…. But anyway you know how your parents feel about me . You remember right ? Pure hatred to the wise ass, no good, boho junkie that took their boy and ruined his life? So I mean maybe it would be easier on you if I left when they came to visit?"

" NO" Mark's cut in far more harsh than he had intended. But it scared him, the thought of being alone with them again like he had been for so many horrible years, he wanted Roger there more than anything. " please don't leave me alone with them" he said lightly, laughing a little, trying not to let the desperation reflect in his voice.

" Alright I'll stay, and try to be as conservative and charming as ever…like that'll fucking work"

Mark laughed and turned to stride into the kitchen speaking over his shoulder

"Yeah the day hell freezes ov-" he was cut off as his head smacked hard off of a low hanging pipe. A dull thud echo as his skull made contact.

"SHIT, Mark are you alright ?" Roger knelt down beside Mark who had stumbled over to the couch, holding his head

" Yeah I'm fine its just.. Am I bleeding ?" he touched a mark on his cheek where his glasses had dug into his skin, and examined the blood on his fingers

"Yeah pretty badly, sit still I'm gunna go grab the first aid kit" Roger returned in a few moment and prepared a cotton swab with some sort of fluid " great now your parents are going to think I abuse you too" Mark tried to smile but winced in pain instead

" I'd come up with a witty comment if my head wasn't throbbing" He was aware of the fact there was no use in arguing with Roger about taking care of him, Roger took whatever chance he could to care for Mark for a change, he got tired of being the dead weight, and wanted to help someone for once. Mark knew this and allowed it whenever the opportunity presented itself, which wasn't often. Roger leaned in close, inches from Marks face and started dabbing at the blood. Mark felt his heart speed up some. Goddamn it Cohen, don't you fucking dare, not now. He felt such temptation and desire rise within him it actually frightened him, why did these feelings keep coming back and getting stronger ? He questioned. When Roger finished he pulled the swab away

but didn't move.

Neither of them did. They sat in silence. Blue reflected desire hazed by confusion, green reflected warmth distorted by apprehension.  
Their gazes remained locked and their faces inches from one another.  
Those inches soon began to cease and slowly, ever so slowly they each closed in.  
Mark's ears rang provocatively and Roger could feel the heat rising within his chest.  
The inch became a few centimeters. Mark felt his heart would beat out of his chest and Roger's mind had stopped working.  
Those centimeters became a mere few millimeters. Mark was no longer thinking Cleary and  
something caught Roger's eye.  
He pulled back quickly and grabbed Marks wrist harshly, yanking it to an outstretched position to reveal the track mark settled neatly in it's crook.

"Mark what the fuck is that ?"

" what ? Oh that I uhmm it was.." Roger yanked Mark's arm again, pointing to the fading horizontal scars going from his wrists to mid arm.

" AND WHAT THE FUCK ARE THOSE?" his voice revealed anger, his eyes spoke otherwise. Mark always held it together, Mark was always there, Mark didn't have problems THAT bad, Mark was the wall, Mark didn't break … did he? A pang of unidentified hurt pierced Roger .

" I uhhh….. Those are old"

" But THAT Isn't" Roger demanded pointing to the red dot positioned in the crook of Marks arm " I would know" Mark opened his mouth to speak , but found himself at loss for words, he winced at Rogers tight grip on his arm and let out a shaky breath. " Well are you going to fucking answer me Mark? What the fuck did you do?" Mark felt a sudden surge of anger rip through him. Roger had no right to know, Roger was the one that had the drugs and needles around in the first place, Roger had never cared before this , Roger was the one that sent him into a panic attack, Roger was the one Mark kept having those fucking dreams about, Roger didn't deserve to know anything

" WHY THE FUCK DO YOU CARE?" Mark pulled away and stood up "you never did before, it's non of your fucking business anyway, you always want me to leave you alone, fine I will as long as you leave me the fuck alone" Mark pushed past Roger, heading towards the door, but the much taller, bigger man cut him off. " fucking move Roger" Roger was struggling guilt at this moment, as it dawned on him that he had been so absorbed in himself, so neglective of Mark all this time he hadn't even notice any of this . Roger took another glance at Marks arm and shuddered, another surge of pain occupied his body, the kind of pain he usually hid from, ran from.

" No just fucking no, you know what you are not going to fucking hide this time you are not going to get away with god damn running like you always do , Mark what did you do" Mark threw him a glare and shoved at his arm

"get the fuck away from me, you never cared anyway just-" Roger grabbed Mark's shoulders and pinned him up against the wall

" OF COURSE I FUCKING CARE I HAVE ALWAYS FUCKING CARED MARK, AND IF ANYTHING FUCKING HAPPENS TO YOU I'LL HAVE NOTHING ! I NEED YOU AROUND OKAY? I SAID IT ALRIGHT? ARE YOU FUCKING HAPPY NOW? OR DO YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT ALL THE GUILT FROM THE FACT I DIDN'T SEE THIS HAPPENING ? YOU NEED TO STOP THIS BULLSHIT AND TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK YOU DID" The filmmaker stopped struggling. He was shocked, awestruck really. What do you do at a time like this? What do you say when your best friend of 6 years that you've been through everything with, finally after all this time tells you something like that, tells you he needs you.. How do you respond? When a person who is absolutely terrified of emotion reveals the rawest type to you ?

" It.. I was.. I had a panic anxiety attack thing and I was .. I was having flashbacks and when I came out of the .. The haze the the needle was in my arm and … and when I was younger well when I was like 14 things happened and I used to get a razor and… it's been at least 3 years now since…" he trailed off, his face cold as stone and his gaze empty. Roger closed his eyes. An unfamiliar sensation coursed through him, his throat became tight, heat was welling up behind his eyes, his chest was contracting. Was he about to cry? When was the last time he had cried ? He hadn't even after Mimi died, it hurt too bad even to cry. The only times he really ever remembered crying in his life was when he found April and at Angel's funeral. He was vaguely sure that he had broken down and cried during another instance though When was the last time he cried?

'_I die without you'( no day but today) I die without you (no day but today) No day but today . _He let Mark go abruptly, placing his head in his hands, and leaning back against the cool bathroom wall. A wave of unbearable emotion had captured him at the pain staking memory of that night.

" Roger? a-are you okay?" The musician didn't move.

"please don't do it again, you won't right? You wont, you promise?" Mark winced at the quivering of Rogers voice. Was he about to cry? He NEVER cried, EVER… neither of them did. The only time Roger had cried was April, and Mark, he stopped crying after his sisters funeral. He couldn't remember the last time he had, if he ever had since then. '_my only goal is just to be, without you (there's only now), the hand gropes, (there's only here) the ear hears ( give in to love) the pulse beats (or live in fear) life goes on ( no other road) but I'm gone (no other way) , cause I die without you (no day but today) I die without you (no day but today). _Mark felt as if his heart had just shattered in the presence of the memory, he bit his lip to hold himself together. To hold back the truth. Tasting blood he remained motionless images dancing within his mind

" Yeah Roger, yeah I promise" he muttered under his breath as he pulled himself to his feet in order to escape the sorrow and the tension looming in the air of the room, to escape the memories, to escape from Roger's soft singing of " I die without you "

* * *

Mark smiled, taking in the once familiar scene of the life café . He hadn't been here for a long while after Mimi's death, and it felt so right to be back. He hadn't seen the gang for a little while either, and even Collins was home to visit again. Everything was almost back to normal, which meant of course Mark's camera was up and running. They had been sitting in the restruant for hours and the staff was obviously weary of how loud and obnoxious they were as well as terrified they were going to follow up on the "La vie boheme" incident of last year. Mark was sitting off to the side of the noise, conversing quietly with Joanne. Ever sing that fateful afternoon they met and tangoed for the first time, they had become really close, something neither of them would have predicted that cold day before Maureen's biggest protest.

"Joanne please, I'm freaking the hell out here, my parents haven't seen me for 3 years, if they knew the way I lived they wouldn't let me, even if they have to get the cops, they WILL force me to stop living as I am, I NEED to use your apartment, it's so fancy and shit, please?" Joanne sighed, she knew she couldn't turn Mark down, he really needed her assistance and he had always been around to pick up the pieces for her whenever she needed it. He was ALWAYS there for everyone.

" Fine Mark, Maureen and I will stay in the loft for the weekend" She laughed a little bit "and if your parents find a pair of girl panties lying around?" The light mood settled comfortably back again and Mark chuckled.

"even better!" They laughed a little more before Joanne's face set into a serous manner once again.

"Mark, I hope I'm not intruding, but you seem so terrified of your parents and you hate them so much, they didn't … hit you or anything when you were younger right?" Mark glanced down at his arm, he had been careful to wear long sleeves.

" No I uhh.. It was nothing" Joanne gently placed a hand on his sleeve. He winced

"It's fine Mark, you don't have to tell me anything, but I'm always here okay?" she smiled at him sweetly before getting up and moving back to her spot next to Maureen. He sighed wearily and turned his attention back to the group. After another half an hour they all pilled out of the restaurant together . Mark lingered a little, turning over the events of the past couple of days in his head.

_The tension in the loft had been heavy after the breakdown , after the almost.. Almost what? What would have happened if Roger hadn't seen those marks on Mark's arm? Neither of the boys were sure and this fact weighed heavy on both their minds. But weighing heavier on Roger's was the fact he needed to watch out for Mark, needed to take care of him. He noticed how sickly Mark seemed and was driven by guilt, worry , and over all other things his deep caring for Mark. Mark stood at the kitchen sink, looking both ways to be sure Roger wasn't around. He just wasn't hungry, he rarely was, and most of the time he forgot to eat anyway. He tipped the plate of spaghetti towards the drain when a strong hand grabbed his wrist from behind ._

"_Mark you have to eat" _

" _I'm not hungry" _

"_Mark" Roger grabbed Mark's shirt up to revile his ribs "your not healthy , you never want to eat anymore, you have to eat Mark, c'mon" _

"_Roger I.."_

" _Mark , please just eat" So Mark unwillingly sat down and ate half the plate.  
__Happenings such as these were common not only by necessity but distraction. __Roger had started to explore and sift through his undesired thoughts and feelings and had been trying vigorously to deal with it, hoping it would just go away. When this incident occurred however, he had shut off the worry for a few day, just to take care of Mark. And Mark, he had too many other things on his mind to think about it, other things that were scaring him shitless, giving him nightmares. During his worst nightmares about his father, Roger would often come in to comfort him, which was usually the only way he got restful sleep. One of these times Mark found himself in Roger's arms. Roger had fallen asleep sitting up in the freezing cold, holding Mark to sooth him from his nightmares. Another time Mark hadn't known Roger was walking behind him and whirled around suddenly, to find himself inches from Rogers face, once Roger had come out of the shower plaid merely in a towel. All these close encounters were occupied with the dreaded feelings Mark had been trying to dismiss, but were quickly forgotten amongst the dread that ensued him._

" Roger you have something on the back of your pants" Mark commented without second thought. Roger's hand was brought to the back of his pants to feel around .

" Why you looking at my ass Cohen?" Mark felt his heart speed up, his face turn a deep red and immediately threw his eyes at the floor. Why had he been looking ? Because Mark thought bitterly, he was being a fucking homo freak that was why.

" I..I wasn't it was just, kind of har-d-d to miss" he replied attempting to keep his stammering at a minimum. Collins observed this, no one else seemed to notice or care, but he saw the nerves capture Mark, he saw the tension settle over Roger and it was as if he could read their minds. Also, he observed the spot on Rogers pants was small and almost blended in with the color, it was pretty hard to notice unless you had been concentrating to an extent. Roger laughed.

" Calm down Mark , I was just kidding Jesus" It was said lightly, a friendly joke that seemed non out of the ordinary. No one else knew just how uneasy it made the two. *****


	6. And A Waste Of Time

**A/n: **Did not get the 3 reviews I wanted, but figured I probably wouldn't deserve them if I didn't post when I said I would. I was reading over the story, and grimaced sereraly and my poor wording and ignorante writing style. I apologize about that. Anyway, it's starting to heat up now. When Mr. Cohen was yelling I was going to say "our fucking jewish religion" but that would have defeated the purpose, for i'm sure if you are religouse you would not use that word while refering to your beloved religion. Not that I would know.. haha. Anywayyy I'm serouse though, I've been good here, so 3 reviews. No new chapters till then. Thanks

- Mimi*

And A Waste Of Time

" Oh god, oh god, oh god, they're gunna be here any second" Mark paced around Joanne's apartment which the boys had temporarily decorated with their own belongings, making the living space look convincible as possible.

" Mark breath, don't have another panic attack" the high tension was no longer present between the two who had become a lot closer lately, which pleased both but still raised questionable things inside of them.

" I know its just, shit is that stubble? fuck" Mark raced into the bathroom positioning himself in front of the mirror with a razor " if they see anything wrong they will…. FUCK"

" What the hell did you do now?" Roger understood Mark's nerves , he was on the edge himself, the thoughts of seeing that son of a bitch again, hurting the man he lo…

that was best friend with he caught himself,

what else was he going to say?

Mark entered holding his hand over a bloody slit on his right jaw

"goddamn it, I slipped. Again. Is there anything to dab this with?" Mark pulled his fingers away to examined the blood staining them but replaced it hastily as more began to trickle down his face. "Shit since when did razor nicks bleed this much?"

Both the men winced at the careless choice of words as Rogers gaze fell upon Marks carefully hidden arm. Mark fidgeted slightly.

"God Mark, you keep managing to hurt you fucking face" Roger commented making his way into the bathroom and pulling some shit from the first aid kit. He then made his way over to Mark who was seated on the polished looking coffee table. Roger sighed " sit still" he instructed before leaning in close.

really close  
probably closer than necessary to clean the wound.  
The boys eyes met, and their gaze once again refused to leave each others.  
Similar truths bitten back began to well behind each pair of lashes.  
Years of hurt and cruelness and bloodied secrets accumulated in their depths.  
Mark's eyes reflected burning passion, they reflected desire,  
and Roger's matched perfectly, reflecting need reflecting unbearable scorching heat.  
Fire seemed to rise between the two, each screaming silently as was rehearsed, each blind of the other, each unaware of how slowly they were dieing inside.  
Dieing of the most beautiful disease.  
Dieing of what people wait a life time for.  
Dieing for what people wait a life time in hope of experiencing.  
Thriving from what they had wasted a life time on.  
Living off the silence.

" Mark we- what the fuck?!??!!" they both quickly pulled away to examine the source of the noise. Mark father a big, muscular yet chubby, balding man stood in the doorway, his bags on the floor a look of astonishment and disgust gracing his features

"MARK YOU AND YOUR ROOM MATE ARE FUCKING QUEERS?" Roger smiled, a vain attempt in being charming when all he really was, was pissed

" Oh no Mr. Cohen, Mark got a cut on his face, and we didn't want him to get an infection , So I got the first aid kit and-"

"BULLSHIT" Mark winced and closed his eyes, taking in deep breaths. Oh god not again, not again, Roger wasn't even strong this time as he used to be, he had the disease he had been through drugs.

"Dad he's telling this truth we are not-" Mark didn't get to finish the sentence and wasn't sure if he got the opportunity it would have been true as he wanted it to be or a full out lie. It didn't matter anyway.

" MARK HOW DARE YOU DISGRACE YOUR FAMILY LIKE THIS, OUR JEWISH RELIGION!" Mr. Cohen raged, shocking both the younger men with the short interval of time it took him to completely lose control. " THIS IS DISGUSTING, YOU WERE ALWAYS SUCH A FUCKING FAILURE ,BUT NOW YOU DO THIS!!!!"

"Mr. Cohen he really didn't" Roger tried to intervene but the large man paid no mind, he had already pushed past the rocker and was making his way over to Mark. Scrawny little Mark, Roger realized, defenseless, boney, malnourished, in pain, terrified little Mark.

" YOU ARE DISGUSTING I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU EVER LIVED IN OUR HOUSE YOU DIRTY LITTLE BASTARD" The first punch was quick, clean, and driven by rage. The huge mans fist landed roundly on Mark's chin, sending him sprawling to the hardwood floor. Mr. Cohen was now screaming furiously in Hebrew, punching and slapping Marks face, kicking his ribs, smothering him with pillows harming the small filmmaker with anything that could possibly be used to cause damage. Roger felt such anger and desperation he never knew surge through him. such pure hatred, such pure desire to make that man suffer, he never knew such intense feelings existed.

" Leave him the fuck alone" The large man whirled around , matching Rogers burning eyes with his own ice cold.

" Who's going to fucking make me?"

Roger wasn't necessarily aware of what occurred after this, but he found himself on top of the beastly man, throwing punch after punch at his face, strength he didn't think he ever had was flowing out , fully dedicated on destroying the despised figure in front of him.

" How" punch "fucking" punch "dare you" punch " lay a fucking finger" kick "on him" crack. he continued to beat the man well after he was defeated " how dare you hurt the man I love" His blind rage had taken him over , he had no idea what he was doing , and was oblivious to his surrounding despite the knowledge that the continues pounding of his fists against the mans face felt good. He continued his merciless beating until he was interrupted by a weak crackling voice floating up from the floor.

" Roger?" He halted his mangling of the abusive man and crept over to Mark, kneeling at his side

" Mark, oh god he beat you bad, that son of a bitch are you alright?" Mark smiled weakly, a feeble attempt in scarping up any dignity that he had left.

" I'm used to it, well not this bad I don't think, but look at you, before you got him down he really hurt you, are you going to be okay?" Roger didn't remember anything before he had pinned the larger man down, but he just shook his head

"yeah I'm fine you on the other hand are barely conscious"

"Boy's what's going on here?" Marks mother appeared around the corner just as Mark blacked out.

* * *

"Mark, Mark its okay their gone, Mark, calm down its me, Mark, MARK" The scrawny blonde's eyes snapped open. clueless blue meeting weary green.

" What, what's going on?" the words barely escaped the film makers lips before gut wrenching memory came flooding back "Roger are you okay?" Roger laughed a little, the flicker of weariness in his eyes, the way his features were distorted in a worry full manner, looked off , unfamiliar on the rocker, usually Mark was the one with the worry line sinking into his face.

"That typical, you passed out and the first thing you do is ask about me"

"but my dad.. He hurt you bad" Roger snorted, his features becoming lost in a fiery look of hatred, one that was almost frightening.

" Mark , was it really THIS bad all those years?, I mean you were just having nightmares talking about your sister ,I didn't even know you had a sister, and screaming and begging not to be hurt," Roger began surveying Mark up and down slowly " what's really been happening Mark?" Mark sighed and bit his in lip in a desperate attempt to hold himself together . His chest began to restrict, a factor which he ignored. He was not giving in now.

" Well it started when I was 7... my dad he started drinking…" Mark went on to explain how his father became abusive, recounting the things that he did, the night he killed Cindy, the way his mother always defended his father, saying he didn't mean it and he would get better, the way he treated Mark, the things he said to him, the time Mark was raped in an alleyway when he tried to run away the first time at age 13, recounted the times he was beaten in school, the loneliness he experience, the razors he dragged over his arms, the time he nearly dug deep enough into his wrists to have him bleed to death. He talked for an endless amount of time it seemed, which in reality was 45 minutes. " and then one day," he laughed a little, his eyes hazy in remembrance "I uh… I looked up in a book how to load a guy, and I found one in my dads private room, I was home alone" He paused a little, and started nipping his lower lip "when I then proceeded to hold it to my head and pull the trigger" Roger felt his heart stop at that moment, his breath caught in his throat, something clenched in his chest as he pulled his lips into his teeth and closed his eyes, trying to steal his breath back. Mark just laughed again, still staring off at the wall "damn thing wasn't loaded right" "and then" he recalled , letting out a breath " as you know, I tried again , if you hadn't pulled me off of that bridge, I wouldn't be here Roger" Mark positioned his eyes up at Roger who was leaning against the head board of Mark's bed staring at the ceiling, Mark was sprawled horizontally his head resting in Roger laps.

"Mark I'm sorry"

"you know I hate pity Roger"

" No well, I am sorry all the shit happened to you, but I'm saying sorry because you always took care of me and I never even acted like I cared about you at all, and I put you through all this shit everyday and all this… and everything.. And I'm just sorry"

"don't be" Mark started to laugh a little, turning his gaze back up at Roger

"Man you were blind with furry , you were SCREAMING at my dad, when you tried to tackle him he got up and punched you in the gut, the face 3 times, and in the balls, then he threw you against the wall, but you got back up more pissed than ever and kicked his ass, You didn't even know what you were doing or saying" Mark thought back to what Roger had said in his rage, he felt a tug at his heart, but dismissed it by snorting out a laugh

"Why are you laughing , what did I say?" Roger questioned returning his gaze for the first time since they started talking. Mark laughed again, smiling as light heartedly as possible , trying to hide the fact the words were really weighing heavy on him

"while you were repeatedly punching my dad you started yelling at him and told him 'how dare he hurt the man you love' " Mark shrugged , more so to hide the chill that went through him over anything. Roger drew in a sharp breath and held it for a few moments , before looking down to meet Mark's eyes . He studied every feature of Marks face, his soft curving cheeks and nose, his piercing blue eyes that nearly dominated his pale face, his sharp chin, every line and wrinkling that shouldn't be their, every bruise and scar. He let out the breath he had been holding slowly in hopes of finding some sort of relief from the unbearable heat rising within him.

"Mark, I've been thinking…" the split second of hesitation that followed was enough to change a world. It was just enough time for Roger's mind to clog and for his heart to skip a few beats. It was just enough time to decide between love and fear. It held the possibility of changing the world.

_If that split second had been different_….

"IM HOME BITCHES" Collins dropped his bag and swung into Rogers room, intruding on the boys .

_A lot of heart ache could have been saved._

" Goddamn it" Roger mumbled to himself as he slid out from under Mark. Collins returned Roger's evident frustration with a sly smile.

" Was I interrupting something boys?" he gave the aura of expecting to walk in on such a scene, radiated almost as if he had been hoping for it. Mark simply sat on the bed shooting confused glances between the two men.

"No, nothing at all" Roger murmured pushing past Collins out of the room, stubbornly refusing to meet anyone eyes.

What were you about to say Davis ? What HAVE you been thinking ? He interrogated himself. He realized how hard it was getting to keep fighting off the things that crept into this mind, how he would have to stop running and actually deal with a few things within him , cross some lines, just figure out what was going on with himself, although somewhere in the back of his mind, in the back of his gut he knew. He just wasn't ready to explore the possibility, he was afraid it would be true

he was more afraid he wouldn't be able to fight his emotions off anymore.

Roger sat out on the fire escape for about an hour, thinking about anything that didn't involve what was really bothering him,

thinking about anything that wasn't about Mark.

It was cold out, the air cooled his hot skin as he sat remembering things, composing songs in his head, soothing himself despite the battle raging his interior . Collins emerged after a while and settled next to Roger , enjoying the night air as well . His eyes surveyed Roger up and down as the two sat in silence for some time.

"You and Mark have gotten close lately , huh ?" Roger just shrugged

"Yeah, I guess" He had been avoiding the subject in his mind, he didn't really want to talk about it. The two sat in contemplating silence again for a while until Collins deep voice split in once more.

"Did I ever tell you the story about how I realized I liked guys?" Roger's heart skipped a beat, what was he getting at ?

" Uhmm no" Collins smiled, leaning back and closing his eyes

" Well, I didn't really ever think about guys that way, until I suddenly started having weird feelings for one of my close friends, I tried to shrug them off , thinking it was just a phase or me being stupid, I thought it wasn't possible," he paused. The whole shpele of a story he was giving here, it wasn't true in the least. He had known he was gay for a while and had no problem admitting it. But, being a philospher he knew much of the human mind, and was aware one opens up far easier if they feel you relate to them. " but when I finally gave myself time to think about it, I realized that , that love had always been right in front of me-"

" What are you getting at?" Roger cut him off, he wasn't in the mood for games.

"What do you think I'm getting at?"

"No games Tom"

" you and .. things you didn't know about yourself and Mark and things he didn't know about -"

" No Collins"

" Yes Roger"

"shut up, I don't want to hear it, Mark and I are best friends, we both date GIRLS, and ONLY GIRLS even if either of us liked guys which we DON'T and NEVER will we would not like  
eacho-"

"Roger shut your stubborn lying mouth the fuck up and listen to me" Collins had become stern, you don't protest against Collins when he's beings serious " I know your confused about things, I know Mark is confused about things, I see right through both of you, don't think I can't, all I'm saying is you have to give it a chance, you have to give in to your emotions Roger! You don't have a lot of time left!"

"screw you!" Roger respected Collins, But mentioning the disease , and forcing these private, secret feelings of his out in the open, out into words that hung in the air, that was just too far . Roger swiftly got to his feet and strode across the fire escape, trying to escape Collins, trying to escape this conversation,

trying to escape the truth.

" No day but today Roger"

"Shove that up your ass" Collins laughed, he couldn't blame Roger for being angry at him, especially since he was preaching the truth

"Cant run forever Roger, doesn't work that way"

* * *

Mark wandered around the cold city with his camera, filming anything of interest. Collins didn't know, Roger didn't know. They didn't know Mark had been listening to their conversation on the fire the escape, they didn't know he had been listening, and they didn't know uneasy It made him. Mark tried to recount times when Collins had been wrong, had misread them before, because surely he had to be wrong about this. He couldn't think of anything, in fact, Collins was always right , ESPECIALLY when it came to the boys . Mark shuddered and continued walking. When had this all started ? They had always been best friends, no one ever questioned them, thoughts even close to those never ever entered anyone's mind, not even to joke about it, they had never felt anything but brotherly love for each other. But what did they feel now ? Scratch that, what did HE feel now? He had been avoiding the subject for a few months, and found he was growing weary, and honestly wasn't sure how much longer he could fight himself off. But it just couldn't be true, he protested, it just couldn't that's not how he went, that's not how Roger went. Especially about each other. But what specifically , was he talking about ? He was beating around the bush, and too afraid to say something even in his mind, he was almost afraid if he allowed himself to think about it , he would realize it was true. Then what would happen? As he broke out of thought, he looked up and realized, once again, two men were pushed up against a wall in passion. This time though, he didn't shudder, he didn't reject the thought . He went blank for a few moment before he pictured Roger. Roger and himself pushed against that wall, Roger and himself caught in a moment of passion. When that image occurred to him he realized he couldn't run anymore. He had to sort through his feelings and do it now. He found himself on a bench in central park as he closed his eyes and started to explore the part of his mind he had been fighting for so long.

* * *

Roger sat on the floor, locked in his room. Why did Collins accuse him of these things ? Why did Collin's have to announce them out in the open? Mark was like his brother, his best friends, his well… his everything , wasn't much else he lived for at the moment. What did he feel ? He felt different that was for sure. But how ? He knew, the back of his mind knew, the back of his churning stomach knew. But that's one of the amazing things about the human heart and mind. No matter how long you have been persisted with the same aching throb of knowing, no matter how long that vague but precise answer has been repeating within you mind, you still feel shock when it is finally confirmed. You still feel the shock or the hurt or the terror because when it was still in your mind, it wasn't solid. It wasn't proven or true. There was still the remainders of 'what if's' and hopes it was a simply a distorted reality. But when it is finally the truth, there is no way around it.

He grabbed his jacket and soon found himself knocking at Joanne and Maureen's door, lacking anywhere else to go

"Hello?" Joanne craned her head through the small opening she had made between the door and frame. Upon observation the figure awaiting her company was non other than Roger, she opened the door wider offering an inviting smile.

"uhmm hey" Roger fixed his eyes on his shoes in fear of cracking under Joanne's puzzled gaze

"Hey Roger, is something wrong?' her voice was kind and patient

" Yeah uhmm.. Well I uhmm I need to talk to someone… Maureen's not home is she?"

" No she's away for the week" Joanne replied evidently baffled as to why the withdrawal musician was standing at her door

" good ..uhm can I talk to you about something, I uhh I don't know what else to do.." Joanne smiled warmly, and invited him in seating him on the coach and handing him a cup of fresh coffee. He thanked her as she settled in the chair correspond his current position.

"What's on your mind?" Roger sighed in a perplexed manner, staring firmly at his hands as he spoke

" I uhmm I've been feeling some things I shouldn't for someone I shouldn't" Joanne cocked an eyebrow

"mhmm"

" and uhmmm… I uhmm I don't know what to do and I've been … feeling it for a while I think but I uh.. I never ever let myself think about it I was.. Just.. I'm not supposed to….I don't… I mean .. I'm afraid…. I mean he doesn't.."

"He?" Joanne broke into Roger nervous babbling . Her voice resounded with slight surprise, but was absent of any traces of shock. Roger sighed heavily

"yeah.."

"is it Mark?"

" Yeah.. Wait how did you know?"

"Collins and Maureen have always babbled about it, they still do a lot, they are so sure you guys will end up together or something "

"oh fucking great, I don't even know what the hell is going on, but its being broadcasted all over fucking alphabet city" Roger eyes betrayed the anger in his voice, revealing him as more frustrated and weary and… scared.

" Joanne.. I … I don't know what I'm feeling or what to do or just .. Help?" NOW Joanne was shocked , Roger asking for help? ESPECIALLY from her ? Were talking cows named Elsie suddenly going to fly out of her ass while banging suicidal Mickey mice ?

"Well lets start with this" she captured his eyes as she spoke. It was a soft glare yet firm, as if forcing him to speak the truth to her. "what do you think of when you think of Mark? First thing that comes to your head don't think about it just say it" Roger shut one eye and cocked the other one oddly while chewing his lower lip, considering this question

" I think of a scrawny , skinny, adorable, blonde fine spiked hair, beautiful emotion hiding but sparkling blue eyes hidden behind glasses, of a thin gold necklace strung around a pale neck, of such a smile that it could light up everything when it makes its rare appearances at full force and laugh that I want to hear all the…." Joanne felt her self smiling like and asshole, but she couldn't help it, Roger NEVER gave ANYONE a hint to any emotion he felt, with maybe now and again an exception of Mark and to be saying things like THIS … seriously she was expecting to see a fucking bulldog to show up with a eloped dish and spoon ridding a fucking cow. "oh shit… oh okay next question" Roger was looking nervous, his eyes had grown wide and he was fiddling with his callused fingers .

"Okay what do you think when you think of his personality ?" Roger didn't hesitate this time, he considered a feeble attempt at changing the subject, but quite honestly he was tired of running from this.

" I think of someone who is emotionally detached, who is afraid of being alone, of being in love, but that's also really what he wants deep down, he doesn't really want to be alone, no one wants that, he just… he doesn't know what he wants or what he plans to do. He's someone who's lost. He's also a rock, someone you can rely on with your life, but he is not boring, he is thrilling really, he's complicated, and once you get down underneath that hard , detached, highly fearfully and painfully built wall he has, there's something so much more, so much more… I don't know beautiful?? And I mean god he is the most selfless thing that's ever existed and everything about him is just…. It's just amazing.. And he is a true artist he gave up everything for film.. He just has such.. Such passion and talent and he… It just… thrills me.." Joanne felt her heart quicken at the words. It took nearly all her will power to keep her jaw from falling ajar, to keep herself calm and collected . This was ROGER? She could barely grasp that concept, the idea that Roger could or would be willing to say such things, especially about Mark, she actually had forgotten to breath when he had been speaking. But some how, in a way, the fact that it was Roger speaking and speaking about MARK it just made everything so much more… beautiful. It was the kind of thing that gives you hope in the world and love when you should have non at all. A beautiful tragedy. Something that gorgeously made no sense.

"What do you think when you think about his eyes ?" She decided to sease this opportunity before Roger realized what he was saying and withdrew once more

" They are the most beautiful things I've ever seen their a glimpse of eternity.."

"his lips?"

"how soft they are how they must feel…."

" His films?"

"They are some of the best pieces of art I've ever seen in my life… the way he pours his heart and soul into them…"

"Roger ?"

"yeah ?"

"How do you FEEL when you think about Mark"

"I feel like.. Oh shit" Joanne returned her gaze to the rocker to find him more distressed then she had ever seen him in the time since they had met.… he looked like some sort of realization had hit him, and hard, at full force.

Everything seemed to stop around him, his body froze up, his eyes grew wide, reflected with realization , his face paled , the only sound was the clock ticking and his heart beating hard in his head.

A single moment in time.

A single moment that changes a life time.

A single moment that can have more of an impact of years of them put together.

"I feel like.. I'm in love with him" ******


	7. We'll Leave The Dust Of The World

**A/n: Alright so,** I am aware of the fact that it is not Wednesday, but found out I have no school today due to a main water pipe burst. I decided to celebrate and figured I won't have time on Wed. to post, so I am now. Things are contining to build at this point. By the way, you're probably like 'oh Mark broke his promise about cutting bla bla bla' but he didnt promis about cutting, he promised about not doing drugs agan. Just wanted to clear that up.

**We'll leave the dust of the world wondering**

Sometimes Mark would have these days, these times, when the weight of the world hit him suddenly, settled all its heaviness on him all within a few moments and he couldn't escape it. He felt well… it was with lack of explanation really , overwhelmed was an understatement by far, it felt almost as if he just couldn't take it anymore like he literally was about to go insane but he knew he wouldn't , although it would probably be for the better. Like he was about to burst, about to shatter…. just like… it was IMPOSSIBLE to bear, just really truly impossible.

Those days had become more frequent .

Roger wasn't around much anymore, and Mark suspected he was going to leave for good, an event that could easily ruin his life in itself. He had gone nowhere a dark heart wrenching nowhere , and he never would, the dreams and hopes he once so desperately clung to, he was no longer that naïve that blissfully unaware of the world crashing down around him. He would just continue to waste away just as he already was and his name would soon be forgotten. Who would be around to remember it ? He was pointless, everything was quite frankly. The familiar question of the point in life dawned on him. He used to have answer, one that said the point of existence was to feel, to live for sparks and fleeting glimpses of eternity, to chase them and live for them, because really there would be no other point. How utterly dark and cold and unsure he was , the way his emotions kept creeping up on him, only accumulated, added to the already tangled mess of horror, despair and loneliness that ensued him . And on these days, during these times, a lot it was like some sort of game to god (the god Mark didn't believe in) ' hey Mark, your going to add up to nothing and be miserable and guess what? Everyone you love , all the reasons you live for, they are all going to die right before your eyes, your going to have to watch them slowly painfully die and then finally be alone. And your going to be left with all the footage, all the proof you were once happy and all the memories of these people, isn't it fun Mark? This game we call your life ? I sure think it is!' Today it seemed every horrible emotion that had ever perused him crept up at once, they all filled him and tortured him to no extent giving him room for nothing else, no room to move or breath or live.

So he found himself out on the fire escape.

With a full gun, pointed at his temple.

How did it come down to this ? He wondered, examining the continues pulse of New York City below him . The pulse that would continue to beat, weather he was gone or not. The pulse of thousands of hearts and dreams and lack there of, melding together and beating in hope of surviving long after all current inhabitants had gone. In hope of being remembered in crushed smiles and laughter. The story of Manhattan traffic sunk through his chest leaving a lingering scar that seemed it just refused to fade away and the sky reflected distantly with cold ice, foreshadowing darkness that would eventually fall, and cease again, that would swallow the world, and then be lightened once more and continue to do so, with lack of rhyme or reason or protest or choice. It would illuminate and fall, just as the faces of those who still had a point and purpose and a care or hope. For those who could still see the light in the dark..

He cut the stiff air with a shaky breath.

'Goddamn it Cohen stop being such a pussy . You're already turning into a queer , don't be a pussy shit too. '

He saw the end drawing in, just as his shallow breath, he saw the light at the edge, and sure the light was dim and a broken flickering color, but it was there, and he wanted it. Mark smiled slightly a he placed his finger over the trigger, readying himself. He saw the reflection of the sun and the stars and the black and the blue that was really all the same in the end. He saw the glistening buildings and the empty spots ( **A/n** twin towers.. Wait 9/11 hadn't happened yet… oh well) that would never be filled in, a constant reminder that even the strongest structures break. Blow over. And all it takes is sudden impact. Sudden hysteria and surprise and hate and rage and terror.

That's all it takes.

His finger began to press against the cold metal of the trigger. And all the glitter and the gold and the lost places and causes and good intensions and insanity and beauty and reality and darkness and controversy all the fallen smiles, disappointed glares, fire filled pupils , broken hearts, bleeding wrists, burnt skin, locked eyes, blood soaked tongues ( from biting back the truth), lonely moments, dark stages, black backgrounds, haunting sights , loosened grasps, forgotten souls, dismissed forever's, neon signs, darkened high ways, battles of light and dark, crumpled papers, distorted truths, raging fists, dents in the wall, heavy tension, slammed doors, extinguished desires, empty spaces, cages , wings, suffocating walls, bars over windows, and lack of the ability to breath came to greet him, to leave him to depart with the word he hated most.

Goodbye

The loft door slid open suddenly to reveal Roger who smiled blissfully to the empty room. The room leading to the balcony. The balcony that lacked significant meaning or memory. The edge of the world that would soon lead to more heart ache.

"Hey Mark..-" his face fell when he caught that sight. A sight that made his heart stop beating, his chest stop rising, his eyes stop flashing. A sight that represented his worst nightmare.

He lunged forward.

'do it know Cohen , it's now or never… pull the trigger now' but that split moment that Mark took to debate with himself, Roger took action.

_If that single moment had been different _

He had Mark pinned against the railing and was snatching at the gun.

And now it was hands and fists and legs and furry. It was need and refusal to let go, to lose _his _everything at this moment, and a resistance to cease to exist, to fade away before he had to watch _his_ everything do so.

BAM

The loud noise halted the battle for life, causing both to go silent for a few moments before Roger's screech of agony rang through the air.

_An entire world could have been shattered_

"Fuck Roger it got you in the arm oh fuck oh fuck this is my fault shit"

"fuck" And now Roger was on his knees holding his arm, blood trickling through his fingers. Mark once again yanked off his own shirt and advanced towards Roger to try and help with the bleeding. Roger shrunk away

"come on we are going to the clinic right now" Mark insisted , once again advancing toward the fallen angel (later on when he recalled how this phrase had occurred in his mind, he was not only disgusted with himself but felt slightly nauseas) . Roger grit his teeth in agony and managed to stand up with the aid of his good arm and the railing.

" No" he hissed , scrunching his face, trying to will away the pain long enough to finish his statement.

" I'm not going anywhere and I'm not getting any help until you PROMISE me you will never, ever , ever try and kill yourself ever again" Mark looked at him like he was fucking insane

" Stop being a jack ass and let me help you" He reached out to Roger who in return hoisted himself further over the edge of the railing

" Mark if you don't fucking promise me you will never do that again, I will jump right here, right now. It wouldn't matter anyway , because without you…" His face distorted again. Mark wasn't ever positive if it was from his physical agony or the pain and effort it took for him to say proceeding, to voice emotion,

To light a flickering flame, that had almost no chance of withstanding the cold, in the darkness.

"there is no point in me, so you are going to promise me" with a pain laced grunt he hoisted himself so he was sitting on the railing, his back facing the large city, facing the concrete that could soon be his sudden death. " Or I am going to tip backwards right now"

"What ?? … I .. .WHAT?!??!?!"

"Mark" And the odd thing about this was, Roger's sudden deathly ultimatum and the struggle and wounds, didn't shock Mark nearly as much as the guitarists emotion. His expression. In all the years of intimacy, shared courtiers and time spent, Mark had learned every aspect of the rocker, he had witnessed every expression and emotion to ever grace the chiseled rough face. But he couldn't place this expression he couldn't place what the older man was feeling .. and he never did . " I know for a fact you… you would never break a promise, especially to me, ever I know, so one more time" He scooted back until his ass was dangling completely off the railing " you promise you will never try to kill yourself ever again?" Roger hadn't thought it possible for ones eyes to grow such a size, tons of colors, even ones that shouldn't be on a face had rushed over Mark's usually pale skin, and it was evident he was trying to suppress his involuntary shaking

"FUCK! YES WHOLLY FUCKING SHIT YES OF COURSE I NEVER WILL AGAIN, EVER I PROMISE JUST" he softened as inevitability one again brutality captured him. He closed his eyes. "just please get down" Roger plopped his feet onto the cold fire escape and trotted quietly inside, wrapping Marks shirt around his arm, and throwing Mark's thin coat at the smaller mans head. Despite the agonizing pain coursing through him he mustered up a only half fake smile and batted his eye lashes at Mark

" I knew you'd see it my way"

* * *

"So as I said earlier he will be perfectly fine, we will be able to release him tomorrow, but you are going to have to help him change his bandages and put the ointment on the wound.. But besides that you should be good to go" A overly used, fake cheesy smile "thank you for your time Mr. Cohen"

"Yeah thank you too" Mark murmured resuming his position at Roger's bed side. The injured man had fallen asleep hours ago but Mark refused to leave his bed side, even when the others arrived to visit . If Collins hadn't been there Mark wouldn't have eaten. The filmmaker leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, even just remembering his encounter with his 'family' exasperated him.

" _C'mon Mark seriously HOW did this happen?" _

"_look It was…"_

_"MARK"_

"_We were walking and we saw some chick getting beaten up, we thought they would try to.. Do shit to her so we went to help, a fight broke out and somewhere Roger got shot in the arm, they ran after the gun went off "_

"_oh god you guys were brave!" Maureen was acting as if the world was coming to an end . As usual. Collins threw Mark a suspicious glance , one that said 'I know your not telling me even half the story and we are going to talk about this later' while Joanne tugged on Mark's arm and led him over into a corner_

"_Mark" her eyes serious, firm suspicious, knowing, questioning. "you did again didn't you ?" If it were anyone but Joanne and Collins they would be completely fooled. Mark was a great actor, he hid things all the time with great ease. Everyone believed him minus Roger, Joanne and Collins. Mostly Roger though, Roger knew everything about Mark. Mark avoided Joanne's gaze _

"_I…" she immediately softened gripping Mark's shoulder firmly. Mark shuttered at the human contact. He almost never got touched, he didn't know how to be touched , and he never particularly liked it. When he first ran off to the city if anyone bumped into him, startled him, came near him, or touched him he would jump violently and back away. He hated contact , probably because the only kind he really ever got was abusive. _

"_Hey look we'll talk about it later…. I don't want to force you but I will have to this time Mark… we'll talk later" She gave him a reassuring squeeze and a gentle smile before walking back to Maureen who was making some sort of dramatic story. _

When he opened up his eyes once more it was light outside, and he really didn't remember falling asleep but soon became aware of just how stiff he was from being hunched over in a chair all night. He shifted around, in a vain attempt at getting comfortable.

"Mark?" Groggy green met anxious blue

"Hey" a tender smile "how you doing?" Rogers eyes scanned around the room, then rested upon Mark

"fine.. You stay here all night ?"

"yeah"

"Mark you didn't have to do that"

"yes I did, I mean I wanted to … it was my fault anyway…"

"Hey Mark?"

"yeah Roger?"

"why?" Mark bit his lip and looked away , suddenly becoming interested in the ground to the right of his chair.

"Roger I.." the musician lashed out before Mark had any time to protest, grabbing Mark's arms and pushing up the sleeves. A fresh cut lay on his forearm, about 4 inches down from his wrist. Roger examined the fresh mark then turned his eyes back up to Mark . They had traces of pain in them, traces of fear, something Mark hadn't seen among those green flecks in a long time.

"why?" he repeated softly . Mark had planned out this speech already, played it over and over in his mind, played over every word, every lie , every metaphor, every fake reason but when he saw that look in those eyes it all escaped him. He could usually lie to anyone without feeling guilt, but those pleading specks of grey -green- gold had a hold of him, a grip that for some reason beyond his comprehension he couldn't lie to. He was speaking before his mind could catch up, still under the spell of those eyes.

" Things happen, things happen**ed**…. Sometimes I just get this…unbearable realization then sweeps over me, it reminds me of how useless and worthless I really am, How my name will soon be forgotten, how I'm wasting air, wasting a life, because I will never amount to anything, my so bright future no longer exists, it's just like I'm doomed to a dark life, watching everyone I love, the only things I live for, die slowly in front of me, painfully, and then being left with their memory on a camera, a memory of how I was once happy, Oh I also thought you were leaving again…. It doesn't matter... it's not like I mean anything to anyone anyway, I figured it wouldn't matter if I just ended it now, I just couldn't take it…." his eyes were glazed over , he was speaking, but subconsciously, for his mind was far away from the little hospital. He snorted a little speaking more to himself than anything " I shouldn't have promised you, now I'm going to be stuck in this goddamn existence for god knows how long.. God that was selfish…its just I don't mean anything" At this point Roger was oblivious to his physical pain, only aware of the feeling of his heart being ripped out. This feeling was entirely knew to him, huge even in comparison to April , Mimi and Angles deaths. He couldn't even begin to fathom how he had let this happen, that Mark actually felt this way, Mark was the last person he expected this from. He couldn't even being to formulate words to say, he could barely comprehend any of this, all he could do, he decided was the same thing he did when he wrote his music, speak directly from underneath his hard heart, as queer as it sounded. He'd only ever used this technique writing music, he never even thought about using it any other time, if he did it just made him shudder, he hated having emotions at all, he liked much less showing them, he barely even knew how anymore.

"Mark?" Mark's blue eyes snapped back to reality, his head cocking up to meet Rogers gaze. Blue was cold, green was weathered. Blue had given up, and green had given in

"You mean everything to me"

Mark simply held Rogers eyes, neither of them moved, spoke, breathed. Mark's eyes showed nothing , a blankness Roger had never seen housed in the younger mans pupils before .They continued to stare. Such plane words, so simple , so easy , yet they meant everything. They could have even been the difference between life and death. As the silence continued to ring, a piece of hair fell in front of Mark's face. Hair gel didn't tend to last over night , and his spikes were deflating into a messy surfer bed head. Roger reached out and brushed it away and still holding Mark's gaze, ran his hand back through the blonde hair, bringing it to rest around the back of Mark's scalp. He then leaned forward a little, pushing Marks head toward his own , pulling Mark's lips towards his own.

Both defied gravity, both defied reason and explanation and rules and boundaries.

Walls began to crack

Everything they restricted began to seep through

The pinhole of light began to widen

Fires began to ignite

They moved in

And something inside them began to reach out in a desire to connect

_Love heals the pains to much to bear, when you reach up your hand and only the wind is there_

And the end of the hurt drew near

The pain began to withdrawal

_Love heals ,when you feel so small, not a grain of sand, like nothing at all._

**We climb up the hill **

One more centimeter, one more moment

_If that moment had been different _

The door suddenly slammed open ,

**Just to fall down so easy **

sending the two who had only been centimeters away from each others lips retreating,

_A lot of tears lacking anyone to dry them wouldn't have been wasted _

Mark almost all the way across the room and Roger flinging back into his bed. ( A/n you guys are probably getting pissed I keep doing that huh ?)

Maureen who had karate kicked the door open, Joanne who's eyes were wide and Collins who sported a amused cocked eyebrow proceeded to spill into the room.

"Do you guys plan these fucking things?" Roger hissed, much more harsh and venomous than necessary, giving them all an evil glare. Mark remained in the corner, letting out a breath he hadn't even noticed he was holding. Maureen just gaped, her head titled to the side her mouth slightly ajar studying the scene, Joanne modeled a guilty awkward look , elbowing Maureen for staring while Collins raised his eye brow once more.

"Hmmmm lets see, we opened the door to see Mark practically sprint from leaning over the bed to the corner, Roger fling back in his bed, Mark standing over there blushing like hell with eyes as fucking wide as his face and Roger screaming at us for entering the room"

"And their faces were liked 3 inches apart when I kicked the door open…" Maureen chimed in as Joanne's eyes grew wider

"Hmmmm this is quit a mystery now isn't it ?" Collins asked sarcastically smiling brightly. Roger grit his teeth and gave his three friends a death glare.

"Fuck off Collins" his words where sharp, edged with rage.

"I… I uhhh havetogotothebathroom" Mark stuttered quickly, pushing past everyone and racing through the door. Maureen's mouth remained ajar, a little smile curving up the sides, Joanne just continued searching the room with her eyes practically bulging out of her head and Collins face sported that familiar smug, knowing look.

"Wipe that goddamn look of your fucking face Collins" Rogers frustration only seemed to amuse Collins more

"Hey I didn't say anything, why you so offensive Romeo?" Collins mocked , his smile not faltering once, even under the radar of Roger's daggers.

"Shut it Collins you got the wrong idea" Roger needed desperately to escape this conversation. Maureen interrupted using a sensual voice

" Oh but I believe he is completely right" she implied wiggling her eye brows .

"And I believe you're both ass holes"

"Why are you so stubborn about this?" Collins asked becoming somewhat stern once more.

"About what?"

"See just like that, your such a dip shit sometimes"

"Oh really Thomas, if you know everything why don't you tell me your brilliant outlook on whatever the hell is going on in your head"

"Did you just call him Thomas?"

"Shut it Maureen"

"Alright then" Collins said without hesitation "I'll tell you what the truth is"

"The truth is you and Mark have had these goddamn feelings for each other for almost as long as you've known each other, but neither of you knew it at all, never even expected it at all, and suddenly it caught up with you. Suddenly it hit you and even though you've been fighting it off you just can't anymore. But your not willing to accept it your to fucking afraid, both of you are, and I'm getting sick of it, this feeling is true, this feeling is real, for both of you." Joanne's eyes grew wider if that was possible. Collins Met Roger's glare holding it firm and allowing his voice to rise "you want to know what the feeling is ? LOVE. YOU GUYS ARE IN LOVE WITH EACH OTHER GOD FUCKING DAMN IT." A nurse then strode in cheerfully, opening the blinds and turning towards the group of friends

"Mr. Davis you are free to go home at anytime you please now, just remember to check out" She smiled pivoting on her heels and exciting the room. Roger struggled out of his bed and brushed past everyone as if they weren't there, he quickly gathered up Marks camera and slid on his own shoes before pushing past them again, still ignoring there existence, and briskly made his way to the desk to check out without another word.

He was afraid if he did speak, the truth may come out *******


	8. Wondering, Why ?

**A/n : A**lright, had to post this today because I will have no time after this. My sisters ( despite the fact I am 13, they are 24 and 29, long story) and brother- in- law are coming up from NYC & South carolina, to visit for christmas, and are bringing my neice. Tuesday is her birthday party and wednesday is her actual birthday. Shes turning one. I love her. And so I left everything I have to do for the last second, and me and my friend from gymnastics are coming up with a ballet/contemporary/acrobatic routine for a show coming up, and it needs to be done soon, meaning I have that to work on, as well as a theater audition in a week, and memorizing 3 songs on the piano by tuesday. Jesus christ. Anyway I did not create "the human heart is terrbily flawed" Nor did I come up with the whole "Its like wanting to touch a star" thing. Or the lyrics from the song in bold, evidently. 'Mark's' outlook on what best friends should be is actually my outlook. Oh also the feel so low you can't feel anything at all" is just modifed from a Taylor Swift song. I don't really like her though. The rest is shit I made up because I was feeling a bit artistic today. Right, enough boring you. Don't get too mad at me. You'll understand why I said that once you read. Oh and, I wasn't sure when I was going to update't intend on doing it today, but review serously inspired me. Hey buddy, stick with my story and you'll see. Yeah anyway, If I get enough reviews I MIGHT just post another chapter before christmas, because trust me, the next chapter is were everything really starts building to a point its goin to come to a head only moment.

Wondering, Why?

"Hey Mark ?"

"Yeah Rog ?"

"You know that day you told me about your past ? After that son of a bitch came to visit? And then Collins came over?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Why'd you leave?"

"Huh?" Mark twister around to face his best friend. They were seated on the couch, Mark hunched over fiddling with his camera, trying to fix the focus and Roger absent mindedly strumming at his guitar . After their hospital visit the boys had gone back to almost normal, the type of normal before April and drugs and Mimi and everything. They joked, they hung out all the time, talked about everything (minus Mark's suicide attempt) important or just random, they were once again the best of friends/brothers they had been so long ago. It felt great. Even silences were welcome, they would sit around and enjoyed each others company. Mark, he believed in a true friendship there doesn't have to be a ton of problems or drama going on for something to talk about. There doesn't always have to be gossip or traumatizing events. Yet you haven't resorted to talk of the lowest prices on bread or the traffic on the inter section. Awkward silences are nearly un heard of and you can laugh genuinely. Not that shitty half hearted 'trying to be polite because shit is funnier than what you just said' giggle, your real laugh, the nerdy exotic laugh not another gets to hear. And yet you don't have to hide from them, you don't have to hide under masked emotions or stow away your true passions in the back of a dark closet. You don't have to with them, and even if you attempted, they would sense you were hiding immediately. Because they know you that well. Because they care that much. Not everything is dealing with problems and life, a ton of 'best friends' had that. But it was more like, few words capable of meaning lifetime of sentences, silences that were communication in themselves, opinions that clashed and fit. And a shared center of each world, small realizations such as the other has gotten thinner, more worn down, thoughts that cross you mind in spare time when you're not with them as well, thoughts of them and who they and what they would do and their well being. Two people that just go together. He was pretty sure he had that.

"That night, I came in from the fire escape and you were gone, you didn't come back till late either, why'd you suddenly leave?"

"Oh" Mark dropped his eyes to the floor, fiddling with his camera "no reason"

"You went off in the freezing cold of New York city with only your camera and piece of shit coat at 12:30 A.M. being a little tiny white Jewish dude that wears glasses alone, at night, in this shitty neighborhood , for no reason?"

"I got some inspiration for filming"

"You never could lie to me Cohen"

"I told you no reason" Roger dropped it. He knew Mark would always end up telling him anyway. It was just the way he was.

"Do we have food?"

"Did you really just ask that question?"

"well there has to be something" Roger reasoned flouncing off the coach and heading into the 'kitchen'

"Whatever you say Nancy drew" Mark muttered turning back to his work

Roger dug around, condemning inanimate objects and un recognizable food to clutter the floor, pulling the room apart disastrously only to come up with half a loaf of semi stale bread and a can of spray cheese

"when the hell did we get spray cheese?" he called out to Mark who laughed

"Collins went shopping for us when he was high, you know how fucked up he gets, remember when he bought us a whip and M&Ms instead of a carton of milk and some peanut butter ?" Roger laughed along with his roommate while fiddling with the cap of the can .

"You want any?"

"We have any crackers for it?"

" I got stale-ish bread"

"I'd rather not be pucking my ass off in a few hours, thanks"

"suit yourself you yuppie" Roger kidded, expecting a witty comeback from Mark but instead getting silence. Curiously he peered around the corner to examine his roommate distraction and was met with the sight of Mark, concentrating heavily on his work again . He observed the way the filmmaker hunched close to his camera, worrying his lower lip between his teeth, squinting his eyes, cocking his head at different angles and occasionally running a hand through his hair or pushing up his glasses. Roger caught himself smiling at the sight, caught a tightening in his chest, caught blood on his tongue from his teeth in his lower lip. Roger's gazes was fixated intently on what he needed, what he knew all to well he needed, what he wished wasn't the truth. The can clattered to the floor, Rogers absent minded distraction while shaking it up being the cause. Mark jumped and Roger's eyes to darted quickly away.

"Roger I don't think your supposed to open those things after they get like dented or fall or whatever"

Mark cocked his eyebrows, somewhat amused at his friends clumsiness.

"Oh it'll be fine"

"Whatever you say" Mark commented in a sing song way, stealing a quick glance at the rocker as he bent over.

"Mark trust -" Roger was intervened, however, when the can exploded leaving himself and the kitchen covered with its contents.

"Shit" Roger franticly attempted to wipe the substance off of his now covered self, resulting in more of a disaster, for now the cheese was smeared into his clothing skin and hair; as Mark laughed hysterically in the back ground .

Still gasping for air, Mark grabbed at his camera stating the date, time, and adding what an ass hole Roger was.

"Fuck you!" but Roger couldn't keep a straight face. "hey Mark?"

"Yeah?" Roger then flung a huge handful of cheese at Mark, hitting him directly in the face. " who's crying now Marky?"

"what the hell!?!" laughing Roger threw another handful at Mark who dodged it and jumped to his feet "Oh it's on!"

"Bring it on mommies boy" Mark flung himself at Roger grabbing a handful of cheese from the counter and flinging it at the rocker who dodged the mess and tackled Mark

"Oh your going down Cohen!"

"Not in your dreams eyeliner boy!" Mark shoved Roger hard sending him sprawling onto his back. He then proceeded to sit on his stomach and smearing cheese on his face.

"Just because I weigh like 50 pounds less doesn't mean I'm not stronger" Roger laughed and grabbed Marks wrists Rolling and pinning Mark to the ground, straddling him

"What have your girlfriends always told you markykins? Size does matter!" they continued rolling on the ground, covering each other in cheese, using several wrestling moves, pinning each other down until they were both panting heavily. Roger finally managed to pin Mark against the floor until the film maker stopped struggling.

There breathing was shallow and loud, Roger on his knees a leg on either side of Mark's hips, pinning both the filmmaker arms up above his head .

Their eyes met

And now time stopped

And now everything forbidden

And every line refusing to be crossed

Returned

**So long I've been afraid of **

Every muffled sound behind the current of silence

The quickening heart beats and blood shot eyes

Roger leaned forward oh so slowly

Shot fire through their veins

Just as ice freezing the part of the mind capable of recognizing love, refusing to recognize truth.

as fire melting the section of the heart, the section so dry and coarse from misuse and treatment

His lips came to rest centimeter from Mark's ear

**Losing love I guess I lost **

And they both became aware that

When something become so very inevitable

When it just fits

When something is just so right

There is no way around

"Hey, Mark" He whispered. The smaller man shivered as the hot chill rolled down his spine.

**Well if that's love **

And really, all of it is a disaster waiting to happen

A fuse lit without ones control

But after the hurricane passes

If everything is still standing

Then it is just that important

" I should tell you, I should tell you -"

**It comes at much too high a cost**

"Hey guys I-

Crash

The cold was back

The heart began to crack it was so dry ,empty

Hallow

Oh, I.. I'm sorry, I'll just uh, I'll just go -" Joanne stuttered from the door way. ( Wow, I'm even starting to piss MYSELF off, since I keep doing that)

Roger let out a loud frustrated breath and hopped to his feet

"Every fucking time…. We need a lock" He continued murmuring to himself as he exited the hastily, running from the same thing he always did

The truth.

Mark used that smile, the forced one, the one he used at buzz line, the one that hurt his lips and his cheeks and his eyes

And his heart

"Why are you sorry ? We were just 'fighting' … I mean after the cheese can exploded all hell broke loose" The easiness of the lie off of Mark's tongue was a familiar feeling "Oh yeah you came here to talk today, I forgot, hold on lemme get changed." He held the vain, forced smile. He seemed light and carefree and happy and bright.

He closed his bedroom door

And the 'smile' fell with all the grace of tons of cement.

Of the wait of the world

He let out a shaky breath and tried to calm his racing pulse.

He should be used to the feeling by now

The same person always caused his heart to flutter anyway

He should be used to it

He wasn't

How many times had they come that close to something happening?

Something yeah, he scoffed

Something meaning a big void of unknown

Dark oblivious unknown

He like someone he could never have

Someone he should never have

Someone he shouldn't like this much

Someone who would never share the feeling

_The human heart is terribly flawed _

And who was he to try and defy that ?

Who was he to say that anything could have happened?

He had probably tricked his own sick, queer mind into thinking Roger made a move on him.

His head collided with the wall before he began to change out of his soiled clothes

.Roger will never like you or any other guy like that Mark you sick bastard,

your going to have to deal with it.

Roger strummed at his guitar aimlessly, his thoughts having consumed any possibility to concentrate. What the hell were you thinking Davis ? You keep making fucking moves on the kid.

Just because you've become a fucking homo for your roommate and best friend of god knows how long doesn't mean he feels the same.

In fact he KNEW Mark didn't feel the same,

He knew it and it haunted him

Just as the discolored dots on his arms

As the scars crossing his finger tips shaped of guitar strings

And he'd do anything to change this

To make it different

But..

It was like …

Wanting to touch a star

You know you'll never reach it

But…

But you just

Gotta keep trying

You can't control who you fall in love with but..

Wait

When did love come into this ?

Now his mind was betraying him just as his emotions had been

In an attempt to push that idea out of his mind he listed the reasons this could never happen.

1.) Mark was like.. The straightest guy in New York and Roger .. Well he used to be

2.) It could fuck things up majorly

3.) it would be harder when Roger finally ..di… Left

4.) Mark would and could never feel the same therefore Roger couldn't tell him

5.) Roger was fucking HIV positive for god sake

6.) The last thing he was going to risk was his world … as he continued to list Mark emerged from his room cleaned up and dressed to go out, heading to the door to meet Joanne who was waiting in the hallway outside the loft .

"Hey Rog, Joanne and I are going to the Life for a while , I'll be back later" Roger didn't look up, he couldn't bare seeing that face , that person that would never be his, right now.

"Alright"

"Hey Roger?"

"Yeah?"

"The reason I left was because…. I.." He swallowed hard, his throat tightening with the effort this took him " overheard yours and Collin's conversation out on the fire escape and I uhhh" _love you "_I had to think" Mark pulled the loft door open and made a hasty exit . All he could hope was that Roger would understand what he meant. All he could hope was that Roger felt the same.

But he knew that would never happen.

* * *

Roger awoke screaming and shacking uncontrollably..

Another nightmare, another dream that scared him shitless, another one he didn't remember a thing about. His door flew open moments later reveling a blonde and suddenly alert film maker. He was plaid only in on a pair of flannel pajama pants , his glasses titled at and odd angle and his hair flying about wildly. He was attempting to rub the sleep from his eyes as he surveyed the room, and upon realization there was no threat present, visibly relaxed.

Now that is fucking adorable was the only thought Roger's still sleep hazed mind could comprehend.

"Roger what's wrong ?" he questioned surveying the scene once more before bending over to rub his foot were he stepped on god knows what running to Roger's room. Roger took a few moments to collect himself and take a few breathes

what the hell could be scaring him so fucking bad ?

"I uhh…. another bad dream I guess" Mark weaved himself carefully around all the shit scattered over Roger's floor and sat at the edge of the bed.

"Must have been pretty fucking bad, you were screaming so loud I thought you were getting fucking murdered "

"Sorry" Roger murmured somewhat embarrassed

"Don't be sorry, it just gave me a heart attack, I almost broke something running in here" nice way to make yourself seem desperate Cohen . Roger felt himself tense , no Davis not now. " Do you even remember what their about?"

"Honestly I don't" Roger was unable to make out Mark's features in the dark of the room, but he was fully aware of what way they were positioned in anyway.

"Are you going to be alright?" Mark reached out and touched Rogers arm.

They both flinched at the physical contact.

"Yeah" Roger breathed "yeah I will" Despite Roger's reassurance Mark remained in his same position. They were both aware Roger didn't want to be left alone now. They were both aware even with the lack of voice.

"Hey Mark?" Roger broke the heavy silence about 5 minutes later, turning his eyes back up to Mark and trying once more to make out his features in the next to non existent light .

"Yeah Rog?"

"when's the last time you cried?" Mark shifted so he was sitting next to Roger, his back resting on the head board and his legs lying vertically on the worn mattress.

"When I was 7, at my sisters funereal" Roger winced at the unfamiliar catch lacing Mark's voice "you?"

"April, before that was when I was somewher around age 10" Roger felt Mark shake his head

"Rog?"

"Yeah?"

"Why didn't you cry when Mimi died?" Roger thought about a way to put it in words but found that to be a struggle

"I don't know it was…it's hard to explain it like.. You feel so low -"

"You can't feel anything at all" Mark finished .

"Yeah…. Exactly…. Sometimes I think I forgot how to show emotion"

"Me too "

"We're real fucked up aren't we?" Roger laughed and felt the bed shake as Mark joined in

"Yeah" he said softly "yeah we are"

"Mark?" _Mark seemed to have distanced himself from the conversation _"is there anything you need to talk about?"

_detached_

"huh?"

"well you've always been so busy taking care of everyone else and" he paused, giving himself a moment to choose his words carefully,. This was, by far, Mark's very most sensitive subject. Such a very fragile topic for both.

Emotion

" being behind that camera and.. .. detaching.. I know there's a lot of things you've never dealt with, at least one of them has to be bugging you I mean you did.." Roger trailed not only afraid, but unable to finish the sentence. Unable to bear the remembrance. The possibility.

"try to kill myself?" Roger let out a breath

"yeah"

" I don't know, I never really thought about it, in fact you're the only person that knows my entire past."

"Well you know i'm .. Here… I mean god you know everything about me, I still can never repay you for all the things you've done."

"You don't have to, it was my choice, I wanted to do those things" comfortable silence once again ensued not to broken until Mark had nearly dozed off.

"Mark?"

"mhmmm?"

"Have you ever questioned your sexuality ?" Mark's breath caught in his throat as his heart sped squirmed uncomfortably which Roger noticed, as well as how tense the other man became and the way he held in a breath. He noted this all down , deciding he would evaluate further later.

"Oh. I uhh" Mark was grateful for the dark as he felt the heat creep over his face and down his neck. " I don't know.. I don't think so" _Besides for you _" … why ?" Roger shrugged

"I don't know , just wondering I guess" _Why? Because I love you like the freak I am that's why._

"Oh" another few moment of silence

"Aren't you cold?" Roger looked up at Mark, sitting in the iciness of the loft shirtless "and hungry?" He addressed Mark's far too visible ribs. Mark laughed sleepily

"No mommy dearest"

"shut your goddamn mouth and get under the fucking covers before you fall asleep, because I am NOT getting up to carry you to your room" Mark halted for a moment, feeling extremely uncomfortable with the situation

"Calm the fuck down Mark you act like I just asked you to bend over the fucking bed and -"

"OKAY I'm getting in" why did his damn voice always have to crack? As he pulled the covers up a ray of moonlight happened to flutter into the room, illuminating the many scars inhabiting Marks arm. Roger shuttered and caught himself breathing something that sounded like 'shit'.

"Huh?"

"Your arm"

"oh" Roger reached out and brushed his fingers over the scars before shifting to make more room for Mark . Mark settled in the small space, and Roger noticed how little the bed gave under his weight. Damn he needed to shove food down that boys throat. That was among other things he wanted to shove down that boys throat….. FUCK NO DAVIS.

"Night Roger" Mark murmured already half asleep

"Night Mark" Sleep wasn't even in the question. How can you sleep with something nagging you? Something unidentified whispering into your ear every time your heart beats. With a silence so undisturbed it was roaring? Roger only dared to wrap his arm around Mark after the filmmaker had drifted off.

And now everything could be okay.

And now everything was right.

So right actually, it kind of scared him,

but it really didn't matter he reassured himself as he drifted off,

content with holding the man he had no idea just how in love with he was. ******


	9. Le Tenebre

**Le Tenebre  
(The darkness)**

**A/n:** I was supposed to be off the comptuer 20 minutes ago. Just had to post this, because I would have no other time before christmas. Short chapter, yes, but it was meant to be so. Updated because I had to fix some key mistakes I didn't have time to catch. Sorry abot that.

Weeks passed, subtle encounters varying from intentional contact that was closer than necessary, sometimes holding one another ,or nights of comforting and calming shivers and hysterics. Any type of close physical contact became common. They were both aware of the idea picking at the back of their own minds, of the need burning bridges and making imprints. And yet they remained unaware the other was dieing just as quickly.

And they both still feared it. Truly, they each feared it desperately. The one thing they couldn't detach from. Run from.

Mark knew he was in love with Roger and

Roger somewhere knew he was in love with Mark.

Yet the thin chains held, the lines and boundaries that had become so accustom to them still came into play, still, miraculously, managed to hold them fast, despite their unraveling each day.

They remained living in silence, as the minutes, hours, days, heart beats, swallowed breaths, ticked away. The passion, it only grew, everything built up, accumulated, slowly slowly adding more pressure.

Until it was hard to breath. Until it was threatening them every moment of their days.

Yet they stayed in agonizing silence, fully aware the other could and would never feel the same way.

They were as close as ever, as well, the variation of best friend/ brothers you only hear of in fantasy, making the dark colder, the silence more deafening. And, inevitably, It all had to burst, had to over flow, at any moment, it was actually a miracle it had held so strong for so long . The silence, the emotions, the wants, the needs , the hopes , the fears, the desire was building up so high, becoming more severe each and every day. Yet the curtain of silence remained firmly shut

. On a certain day a close friend of the bohemian "family" who happened to be male, had decided to try and kiss Roger.

And in return got a punch across the jaw and an out of control musician storming back to the loft .Collins happened to be visiting again, something that had been accruing frequently, and was sitting on the couch when Roger stormed in, slamming the sliding door behind him.

"Whoa anger management, what seems to be the problem?

"what's the problem?!" this occurrence, specifically a midst such a tense build up of silence, among the weight on his mind, had sent Roger spinning momentarily out of control. "Joe tried to fucking kiss me Collins that's what happened!"

"Whoa he tried to kiss you ? Why? What did you do?"

"He said he loved me Collins, fucking loved me! He then leaned forward and tried to shove his tongue down my throat, which in response he got a punch across the face"

"whoa man you could have let him down lightly, why the hell did you have to punch the poor guy ? I don't think he even knew he was gay" Mark heard yelling arouse from behind the loft's closed door as he made his way up the stairs. He wondered what the hell Collins and Roger could be talking so furiously about. He paused just outside the entrance, debating weather or not he should walk into the midst of this battle. During the time it took him to elaborate, however, Roger began to scream once more , the volume easily high enough for Mark to effortlessly hear the conversation through the thin walls.

_If that single moment had been different _

"Because Collins, I don't fucking feel that way about him, he fucking loves me ? I don't freaking care if he knew if he was gay or not , we have been friends for a long time and you don't just go around falling in love with your also male friends, I'm not going to fucking let him down lightly, I don't even want to see the faggot again!" Mark stumbled backwards.

And now his world came shattering down

When an unexpected tragedy or other potentially traumatizing event is suddenly sprung on a human, without foreshadow or plausible rezoning or meaning

Ones instinct is to run

"Hey! Watch what you say man , the poor guy couldn't fucking help it, what's your malfunction anyway? Just because you're still in goddamn denial about your emotions doesn't mean you need to go being an ass to people who are brave fucking enough to be honest with themselves!''

"WHAT THE HELL COLLINS. Are you still fucking hung up on that! Give it a rest! I'm not a fucking queer!"

"watch your fucking language boy!" Mark, somehow, managed to regain enough composer to run back down the stairs and out into the night, witch seemed much colder than it had before.

He would wait until they had all drifted to sleep

He had enough money

He had enough time….

_The darkness never would have been_

"GODDAMN IT ROGER" Collins slammed his hands down on the table , standing up to meet the shorter mans gaze "what are you so fucking afraid of ?!? Rejection ? Your image ? What , what is it Roger , why are you so fucking terrified to admit that . YOU . ARE . IN . LOVE . WITH . MARK?!" And now he was inches from Roger's face, challenging him to do the one thing he had never been capable of.

Face the truth.

Face possible hurt and trauma without running

Without trying to forget or distort

"Because" And oddly, Roger softened , his eyes gravitating to the ground "I'm afraid of how real … how strong… he wouldn't… he would never.. I fuck everything up…I fuck everyone up.. He doesn't.. I don't.. I mean I'm not … we're not… he doesn't" Collins placed a hand on the stammering mans shoulder , his brown eyes meeting the wide terrified green ones.

"Yeah Rog, yeah he does"

"He.. I ..no" Roger shook his head, pulling away from Collins and retreating to his room, feeling the philosophers gaze burning into his back as he strode away.

"He's the one thing I could never lose" Roger murmured falling onto his bed "I die without him"

* * *

"Fuck oh fucking mother fuck just fuck" Roger was pacing , clutched in his shacking hand was a note. "shit shit shit shit shit" he read over it for the 10,000th time pulling at his hair and continuing pacing , continuing to use every fiber of his being to prevent himself from spinning out of control.

Mark was gone, Mark had left, oh god, he had left, and it was Rogers fault, it was all his fault , oh god Mark was gone, Mark didn't want to be found , Mark didn't want to come back , he left because he though Roger didn't-

"Roger!" Collins deep voice shattered the loud silence.

"Collins! Wholly fuck , wholly shit , Mark he's gone, he left a note wholly shit" Roger was almost hysteric, being careful to avoid the shards of grass on the floor from the coffee mug he dropped when he found the note, he continued pacing around aimlessly.

"Roger, calm the fuck down, I couldn't understand you on the phone and I still can't, what happened?" Collins demanded, taking in the scene unfolding in front of him.

"Mark, Mark's gone, he left ,he left this note, he's gone he thinks things and he's gone …. Oh il mio dio scopante che cosa se qualcosa accade lui? Che cosa se non ritorna? contrassegno della merda andato… …. merda scopante cacata merda…. relativo tutto il mio difetto, contrassegno di scopata è andato …"

"Whoa Roger!" Collins grabbed the younger mans shoulders to regain his attention "what the fuck language was that? Since when do you speak another language ? And calm down and tell me what the hell is going on !"

"It was Italian Collins , I've always known it, and I woke up this fucking morning , came in the fucking kitchen, got a fucking cup of coffee , found the fucking note, dropped the fucking cup of coffee, had a fucking heart attack , called you , and here we fucking are" Roger's tone was restless, anxious, they need to do something, they needed to find Mark now… Mark..

"Collins he thinks I don't…he thinks he doesn't… he… I do Collins I do" Such hopelessness reflected in that voice, that voice that was gravely and worn by naturally and from years of smoking, and misuse. That voice, those eyes, that one that always forced himself to stay strong. The weathered one who was calloused and capable of dealing with almost anything at that point.

That one was finally breaking.

The anarchist shot his friend a confused and weary look, having had to no idea what the younger man was talking about. Roger simply hung his head, staring blankly at the ground as Collins reached out and snatched the note from the guitarists grasp. His breath caught in his throat as he examined the scratchy , familiar handwriting:

_Roger,_

_Uhhmm. Hi I guess ? Cliché but I mean how do you start these types of things off ? Hey, I guess. But , yeah anyway, I'm figuring by the time you read this.. I've already left. I heard you and Collins talking Roger , You don't want me around and I'm not going to try and force you to do something you don't want to __that __much. I just need to let you know.. I uhh…. How do you say these types of things ?Well I mean Write these types of thing,.. Wow I even stammer when I'm writing.. I mean the words are so simple but its just….well I mean… I guess… I love you Roger.. I mean not friend love, or brotherly love or whatever, I am IN LOVE with you …I think I always have been honestly.. I know you don't feel the same, and you never will, I'm not sure how you found out, I barely knew myself, I guess I'm pretty obvious though huh ? Must be, since I heard you say all those things to Collins about me. It's not like I'm giving up on you Roger, I would never do that. I never give up on anyone, just try to forget them if they give up on me. You don't want me around, so I uh I left, to save us all the pain. I don't think I'll ever love someone like I loved you, I mean.. well I think.. I don't know, I'm still confused I just can't … anyway don't come looking for me, please, I'm long , long gone, and I'll be fine I promise, I wouldn't come back anyway, if you even care, I will be fine. Maybe I'll call someday but… just know I really am in love you and… oh and don't worry I wont break my promise I made you that night when I took that gun to my head . I'll really miss you Rog… you were my world. But remember, no day but today huh ? So I guess I'll be seeing you… Oh and by the way …..I know you can't control who you fall in love.. But.. I'm glad it was you._

_-Mark *_


	10. E Caduto

**A/n:** Another short chapter, but the next one ( oh god the next chapter ) just had to stand on its own. Ill probably be posting much more frequently then necessary because i'm going to be getting really excited haha. So yeah. Hope you all hd a good holiday and all th other polite shit I should be saying but dont five a fuck about honestly. The stars quote is from 'To Write Love On Her Arms' This chapter was really more of a musing/ interlude chapter than anything. Still worth reading though. Oh and for anyone who is intrested, I have decided when I am finished with this story, I am going to expand 'My Heart Is Too Hard To Break' into a multi-chapter fic. Alright thanks. Oh and **yoursxtruly**, I'll get back to you later today babe, im posting this in a haste when my friend is in the shower haha. I'll message you once she's gone.

**`E Caduto  
(Has Fallen)**

"Wholly fuck its cold out" Maureen whined, wrapping her coat tighter around herself. Regularly she wouldn't be outside at all in this weather,much less roaming the streets at 1:00 a.m. with her girlfriend.

"Yeah it is, and if Mark's still here, if he's on the streets, he's probably much colder than we are" Joanne reasoned scanning the streets , alleyways, buildings, and small crowds of people for the blonde filmmaker.

"Don't think I'm not just as freaked out as you are Joanne, I've been worrying my ass off for the past 3 and a half weeks just as much as everyone else," Maureen pointed out "well everyone but Roger anyway"

"Jesus " Joanne murmured craning her neck around the side of a shady building in order to eye it's back lot "I've never seen anyone so broken up before, I hope we find him, not just for his sake but for Roger's fucking health"

"Did you just say fucking ?" Maureen laughed, traces of genuine shock in her voice

"Yeah, why the hell wouldn't I ?"

"Because pookie, you never say that, the worst you say is shit or damn or hell but never fucking" Maureen giggled, seeming somewhat amused.

"Well excuse me mother goose," Joanne squinted into a front window of restaurant surveying the crowd inside "I swear enough , I only use words when I find them necessary"

"Like when we fuck!" Maureen reminisced smiling to herself

"Yes Maureen " Joanne sighed "like when we fuck"

"Hey! Guys!"

"Collins! Hey!" Joanne called as the large man crossed the street to meet the girls "where's Roger?"

"That boy" Collins began, making hand gestures to match his explanation "hasn't slept for days, I forced him to go back to the loft, he has lost like 10 pounds in the past few week and his lips were turning fucking blue, I had to carry him up to his room kicking and screaming, but he was out the second his head hit the pillow"

"Jesus…" Joanne murmured biting her lower lip. She then raised her eyes to meet Collin's " we've got find him Tom"

"Yeah, yeah we do"

"Heyyyyyyy Colllinnnsssss ?" Maureen piped in sing -song like opening her mouth to continue

"No Maureen I am STILL not going to tell you what the note Mark left said"

"But why!" The diva whined jumping up and down while pouting "What did it sayyyy?"

"It said things important enough that we have to and I mean HAVE to find him" Collins emphasized, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb "But it's getting cold out, you guys can head out if you want, I'll call you tomorrow"

"Yeah aright Collins, you head in too, and be sure you take care of Roger, he needs a break, you'll have to make him give himself one " Joanne called over her shoulder as Maureen tugged her away "and call the second you hear a thing!"

"you too!" Collins waved and turned back toward the loft. Mark, how could Mark be gone.? Mark who was the rock, who held everything together,the strong reliable one, Mark who hid.

Who hated the thought of running. Of abandonment.

He feared being alone and empty, and so it would make sense that Mark, he had never been one to run. He detached. Hid. Went numb.

But now, now he had left. He had escaped, or attempted to, just as the way he hated. Just as Roger always did. But really, this wasn't the same. He wasn't vainly attempting to distance himself from inevitability, but more so trying to forget. To leave it behind. Because that goddamn camera wasn't working anymore, wasn't allowing him to go fucking numb anymore. And Mark, he might be good at forgetting, and forgiving and moving on, but this was the one thing, Collins knew, Mark would never be able to forget_. _

_How do you leave the past behind _

Mark just couldn't leave it behind . He knew it. Yet he also knew Mark always held fast to his decisions and withheld great integrity. So if he didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be. But that also meant, to Collins great relief, if he didn't want to die he wouldn't. simple as that. And how could they find him really ?, He could be anywhere, and it wasn't entirely sure if Mark held the mind set of a mere 'out of sight out of mind' or the belief he needed to travel across the fucking continent to run. Like distance actually made a difference. And so he could be anywhere, based upon one factor.

If he really wanted to be found.

_When it keeps finding ways to get to your heart ?_

If he didn't want to be followed, but hoped he would be found, he would be in the most obvious place right now.. Santa fe. If he hoped someone would come for him, if he held on to that shred of hope Collins knew he had always desperately clung to, always managing somehow to keep alive when no one else did. The anarchist smiled something that didn't entirely reach his eyes at the recollection of a specific day. He had stolen Mark's camera and turned it on the blonde, hoping to 'get his skinny white ass in a shot for once,' and plainly asked him 'Mark when you're famous and all your aspirations are met, what would you like to say to the public?' And Mark, he was having one of those rare times when he would actually voice something raw, something un tinged by coldness or censorship

"Tell them to remember the stars." He began, " The stars are always there, but we miss them in the dirt and the clouds, we miss them in the storms, tell them to remember hope, we have hope"

_It reaches way down deep and tears you inside out _

and the words seemed to resound though out the loft, and sure after a few moments Mark went red in the face, commenting on what a pussy ass hole he sounded like and demanding Collins to give him the camera in order to delete the footage. And sure agreement from Roger had come from the background, but it didn't matter because it had been said, and a part of Mark had been show briefly. For a ever brief moment Mark had be open for everyone to see, before he snapped back shut. And Collins never forgot it.

Mark who was alone in the world, the more people around him, the more alone he became. He became hollow in certain aspects, Collins knew, as well as having an "autopilot" where he could simply switch off the emotion and detach. And that…that was probably why this situation terrified the younger man so much. Because he couldn't just brush this off, he couldn't shut it off like everything else. It was too raw and it was too real. And Mark, although he may have lived with the back drop of reality his entire life, the reality many preferred to turn their heads to, he had always lived with distorted realism. A reality that was altered and twisted to engrave the idea that all reality was harsh. All of it was cold and hurtful and nothing could come of it. And the fact this was so unfamiliar, so absolutely real, and unedited, but with lack of pure consequence and pain, this was something he couldn't handle.

Almost as if it were the night air, (A/n cliche cliche cliche!! ew) he couldn't see it, he couldn't film it or touch it, but it was inside of him, and was spiraling out of control. It was spiraling into something terrifying, into a tornado, leaving a path of destruction. And what do you do when a tornado strikes ? You hide. You try to escape before it causes you trauma, before it kills you, before it adds to that bountiful of ugly scars that already harass your memory. Mark who always "babied" Roger immensely, (mom they usually called him) who gave up every ounce of his own happiness and even health for everyone and anyone else's, who poured his whole heart and soul and everything he had into his work, who was complex enough to once second silently hide behind his camera and a next dancing on a fucking table at the life. Mark who had no emotion left , yet had all the emotion in the world to give at the same time. Mark who was the type of person that rarely ever existed.

Mark who they had to find.

Collins entered the loft to the sound of Roger's thrashing and mumbling in his sleep. He entered the sleeping musicians room, examining how he murmured, screamed yelped, clawed and kicked, battling with invisible beings,

and in the end only hurting himself.

It was a familiar process of his.

Yet the anarchist decided against waking the musician, the young man would never willingly doze back to sleep. No, instead Collins moved to the side of the bed to gather up an accumulating pile of dirty glasses and various other items he could dispose of off the bedside table. The place had become even worse of a shit hole since Mark left, and god knew Roger wasn't touching any of it. As Collin's finished gathering up the trash from the bed side table, a single folded slip of paper fluttered to rest beside the bed. Curiously , he bent over to pick it up, finding it was actually two sheets of paper folded together. The first was the note Mark had left, delicate and wrinkled from being unfolded and folded back up on countless occasions. The second was a sheet of paper, resembling what appeared to be a song Roger was in the process of writing , Collins skimmed the two items a certain phrase or two of the handwriting catching his eye :

'And you feel so low you, cant feel nothing at all'

'So here's to everything, coming down to nothing' (A/n : No Roger is not writing/ singing a Taylor swift song, I just thought the lyrics would work, So in my mind, he wrote the lyrics but they are used in a entirely different song that HE composed )

Collins sighed and folded the two items along their creases, placing them back as they had been. He turned hastily and attempted to make a silent escaped from the heavy atmosphere of the room, failing only when his foot caught on god-knows-what, the loud clunk disturbing the other bohemians fitful slumber

"Mark?" Came a pleading, almost childish voice. Collins winced at the sound.

"No Rog, its Collins, go back to sleep"

"Collins, Collins we have to find him… he thinks I don't… but I do Collins I do" Roger repeated his desperate plea to find his best friend, still half asleep and unable to monitor or edit out what was escaping his lips as he usually did.

"I know Roger" The anarchist began. He opened his mouth to make some sort of promise to the guitars, but stopped himself immediately. He did not make promises lightly, he did not break them, and he only made ones he was sure he could keep. And he was feeling as unsure as he ever had. " go back to sleep" he murmured shutting the door behind him.

"If only you knew Mark" He whispered, settling himself onto the couch " if you only fucking knew"

_Till you're torn apart _

_**********_


	11. Un fucking

**A/n** : I apologize, my computer crashed, I have been preparing for any auditon etc etc. I am getting really fucking excited about this though. If the formate confuses you in anyway, inform me and I wil explain. **This Chapter is dedicated to yourstrulyx, HAPPY FUCKING BIRTHDAY BABE! **(yup, BABY, I said it!) I apologize for the 'bad movie' metaphor. It really was bad wasn't it ? This uh, is what happens really. When you wait too long.... The next chapter will be up soon.

It took every bit of his strength not to fall to the ground,

not to scream or hurt something, anything

Not to wish he was dead

Every bit of his entire strength not to lose control

When he was facing the threat of breathing halting completely

Of suffocating

"There was a bombing, Roger, in a small town about an hour from Albany, several main buildings of the down town area were all rigged, and set off a the same time, numerous people died and they're having trouble identifying bodies. The site worker called...… they said … they found a mans wallet, and looking through it they found his license and some other information, leading them to calling this number.. Roger.. The wallet belonged to Mark" And Roger began to tremble, he closed his eyes.

Closed his eyes as if it would shut out the site of Collins, as if it would make what he was saying a sick fucking joke, as if when he opened them again, inevitability wouldn't make a difference, because when he opened them Mark would be there.

And that was all he needed.

"And" Collins continued, breathing shakily, trying in vain to keep himself composed while delivering the news to the crumbling man before him "they uhh, they have a body that matches his description perfectly.. They said.. So we uhh we have to go down there and identify -"

"Its not him" Roger cut in harshly "it's not him Collins, It's not going to be him, there are plenty of albino blondish haired blue eyed boys out there, this is Mark we're talking about Collins , its not him, I know its not, it just can't be .. Its just not possible.. Its just not" And Collins just stood, taking in every bit of his friends denial, feeling the bitterness seep into him, mixing into his own. "but" Roger continued, obviously saying it more for him self than anyone, "if they found his wallet then that means he's down there, so when we go down , we can find him" Collins fiddled with his shirt hem, attempting to suppress the pure resentment toward fait and the world rising within him upon observation of the situation.

You never would have guessed once Roger was the most carefree, immature, childish, daring, light hearted musician. The emptiness in his voice and the broken look in his eyes would lead you to think otherwise, to suspect he had always been torn apart, always somber and hopeless. No one would have ever known he once had the world at his feet, had every reason in the world to live and had once been so.. Well so happy. And you never would have guessed Mark had once had such a bright future , had once being so naïve and young and blissful, once had not had deep worry lines and had weighed what a normal human being should , had once never been so serious or fretting, had not had the weight of the world on his shoulders

or the weight of knowing in his mind.

He too had once had the world to claim , and once had been so happy. That had been deprived of both of them alike long ago but still they always held that one reason to smile, they still had that ounce of hope and love that was each other,

and now that might not even survive.

And Roger's mind was dulled with that fact, his emotions numbed and senses over powered with such a possibility. And he was lost again, just as on other occasions, yet now there was no one to pull him away. No one to live for.

_The tears dry, without you _

And he was completely gone, every sense of emotion and line between reality and his own over powering mind was faded.

Muted.

And he remained this way for an entire week.

Even as the bus pulled into the stop and Collins pulled him off, he still felt nothing, no nerves or fears or pain. He saw faint blurred outlines, unfamiliar and spaced freely, unlike the tight clusters of the city. He heard only the same soft buzzing within his head he had been for the past week, and felt the same nothingness. The slightly warm buzz within his chest and head remained steady, and he remained feeling nothing. Nothing in the least. And his thoughts remained white.

Empty.

He was vaguely aware Collins was dragging him somewhere, yet that was all. And the shapes continued to blur around him in a mess of unknown and pleasure with it remaining that way, with consistent sounds, sights, feelings, and lack there of because it was all over already anyway.

_Life goes on _

Collins dragged the hollow man around a suburban town cluttered with debris, hoping with ever fiber of his being that the body wasn't Mark's. Charred buildings , discarded possessions and such cluttered the streets, workers in bright uniforms bustled about, directing people toward the identification center and attempting to clean the evidence of the catastrophe from the streets. Dread continued to build within Collins as he pushed their way through the crowded streets, approaching the scene of certain agony. What a fucking way to spend Christmas fucking eve. Out in the streets of devastation itself, and directly facing death. And it was so damn cold, despite the fact it was oddly above freezing,

So why should it feel this cold?

And god, What if Mark was gone ? What would he do ? What would any of them do? What would Roger do ? And he found immediately, He didn't want to think about that one. Roger would defiantly lose whatever will to live he had left. Or sanity. Which ever came first. And that scared Collins the most, the fact that it was inevitable Roger would go clinically insane, and although he could prevent it

He really couldn't

Nothing good ever happen to the 'family' Collins realized warily, everything always had to be like a goddamn bad movie . But unlike a movie the actors didn't get back up and laugh after their "death scene" was shot , the cast didn't wipe away their tears the second they heard the word 'cut' and complement each other on their realistic acting. No one could go back and re-film after a mistake and when someone was gone,

they were gone.

It was like a bad movie, it really was, but, obviously, different because this, this was real. ( A/n holly shit enough commas in that last sentence? )

Because they actually felt it.

The men entered sterile building, a small town hospital , obviously not properly equipped for the hoards of people jammed into the waiting room, spilling out into the halls and filling the tiny prison with chaos.

Roger allowed Collins to lead him. Faces were all blurred, mixed with each other, some stricken with devastation and pain, others evident to the reality for the tear tracks tracing some cheeks, very few were warm and happy. The largest majority, much too large, was constructed of somber faces laced with fear or knowing.

Something they all knew too well

Collins talked to a women dressed in white behind a counter, but Roger didn't hear a word. He merely continued to see blurred colors and shapes. Continued to hear only the soft buzzing in his ears. He remained in the empty hallow silence,

the more he should be feeling,

the less he did.

And he still felt nothing, despite the familiar vague awareness of Collins leading him somewhere. He still felt nothing as Collins led him down a thin hall into a small room. He didn't feel the cold air on his bare face, or the heavy atmosphere of death and pain, he didn't feel anything inside as well as out, floated about unable to speak or even think just as he had been unable to do since they had received that telephone call.

_But I'm gone _

Rows of cots with lumps covered in white sheets filled the narrow room, all neat and aligned, as if the cleanses of it all could even begin to make up for the fact they were all so cold.

All so dead.

Collins led him to a bed on the left side, but then pushed the guitarist ahead of him, gesturing for him to check under the sheet.

Roger didn't know where he was, he didn't know why Collins wanted him to lift up this sheet or whatever the hell was in front of him. He was unaware as to what, exactly, he was doing, the only action he could muster in his thoughtless emotionless dazed state was comply. He took the corner between his fingers, unable to feel even the texture of dingy cotton , and fixated his eyes for a moment, attempting without much desire, to comprehend the occurrences taking place. The only sound was his heart pounding in his head

He felt nothing.

**Beat beat**

He then slowly started to pull down the cloth reveling the top of light blonde hair.

**Beat beat**

He still felt nothing.

He pulled it a little further reveling the very top of a albino white forehead.

**Beat beat**

Still nothing.

He pulled it further reveling two white blonde eyebrows.

**Beat beat**

And the scar.

The scar above the right eyebrow

The scar from age 11, being pushed down the stairs

**Beat beat beat beat**

And then he stopped.

**Silence **

He pulled his hand away as if it had been burned.

And for a few moments he stood in a defining silence. A defining silence that spread through his whole

body.

That muted.

Everything

**Silence**

Silence

**Silence **

And then,

it hit him

**Beatbeatbeatbeatbeat**

And it all impacted at once. The dull chill upon his skin, the sterile smell and the sharp shapes, contrasting the bland colors. And hurt (as if that could even come close to beginning to explain what he felt) oh ,the hurt.

And it all came tumbling down

'_Cause I die _

He wasn't capable of handling Mark.

Being dead.

"No" he whispered "no it .. It cant" He backed away slowly, his eyes wide in horror "no" he whispered again, his back pressed firmly against the wall, eyes fixed harshly on the bed in front of him

" NO" He demanded harshly , smashing his fist into the nearest hard surface, in a desire to feel any other pain, In desire to make something suffer the way he was. "No, no ,no, no mother fucking no" and each angry cry was matched with one of his fists colliding with the wall.

He leaned against the rough white surface for a moment, Breathing jaggedly , finding himself unable to deny it

Deny the darkness, threatining to consume him

And he began to crumble, break, whatever word one desires to use, its all the same

Its all the same worst fear, worst sight, worst damn word

Its all the same

And after only crying one other time in his life since he was 5 years old, after countless times of injecting poison to halt the feeling process, unrecoverable days wasted attempting to fight back every bit of hurt, drop after drop of blood dribbling through his teeth from biting back the truth so fucking long, every blatant damn lie of happiness that he wished he could fool himself with too, every broken promise and twisted note that would not just stop fucking haunting him, every moment by moment each unshed tear built, second by second that he fought so god fucking damn hard.

And all it took was one fucking moment

And it all was out

everything that had been building up all the years of his life escaped into this blind rage, this blind over powering of emotion.

His body trembled and shook, his shoulders heaving as he sobbed into the wall.

Collins made a hesitant approach to the deteriorating young man, trying to be gentle as possible.

"Roger?"

"NO!" Roger whirled around , eyes fixed on the figure of the bed that contained his life line, that had a grip of every part of love and lust and hurt and loss within him. "How could this happen!!?" he screamed, his voice seething in such a rage such a hurt that words couldn't even describe. The sound sent chills down ones spine and turned ones heart cold, attempts to re-count the hurt in his voice or the look in his eyes would forever on fail. "How could you do this to me Mark!??!" He continued closing in on the bed "how could you do this Mark?! God damn it, that conversation wasn't about you Mark, it wasn't about you! It could never be because you are my everything Mark!" And only silence contrasted his heavy voice, his burning throat . And he knew it was a lost cause, attempting to put into words what he felt, because now it didn't even matter. And yet he hoped this might make him believe it wasn't too late.

It wasn't his fault.

He knew all too well.

He screamed as loudly as he could , so the pain would sink into the sound.

"How could you just leave me Mark!??! I'm not strong Mark, I'm not strong like you, without you there is no point!, you thought no one cared Mark, well look at me now! Does it look like I fucking care? Huh? Does it? life goes on Mark, but I cant. I wont. I'm fucking gone! I can't without you Mark, I cant!" and he was trembling so damn hard, Collins feared he might fall to the ground. He might die on the spot. " I didn't give up on you Mark! You just left, how could you just leave?" He began to kick the bed post violently " How the fuck could you just leave?!?" He stopped. And, if possible, screamed even louder

_Without you_

"**Damn it Mark , I . Am . In . love . With . You**."

And he screamed and cried and hurt himself and flailed around because he couldn't do this, he couldn't figure it out because nothing mattered any more. And he was dieing (and not from the disease ) with each moment that passed. That ticketed away. Each moment without Mark " how could you, how could you, how could you ?" He sobbed quietly gazing brokenly at the bed "how could you how could you how could you!?" he exploded driving his fist in to the wall once more, causing plaster to fly and an unmistakable crack to sound from his hand. He didn't notice the pain. He wasn't capable of feeling anymore hurt. "See Mark? See I told you! All people can ever do is hurt you!" He ranted toward the cold figure lying on the bed , as if he could hear him, as if he could react . Maybe he was hoping it would. " I. can't!." Roger let out one last desperate cry before running out of the room as if the devil was perusing him, but it wasn't. Something much worse was chasing after him, was ghosting behind him, threatening his being.

The truth.


	12. Titled

**A/n:** Yeah screw it, I know it's only been four days, but I have less pacients than you guys. My audition went great by the way, for all those who care. There is one more chapter after this by the way. Yeah, the fucking site wont let me put the like million spaces between words I want to. Although I push enter like 10,000 times, after savd it only shows up as one space. So takes away from the fucking dramatics. So, that is why I put the dashes there. damnit. **THIS CHAPTER IS POSTED IN HONOR OF CHRIS'S BIRTHDAY!!!! WHICH IS TODAY!!!!!!! HAPPY FUCKING BIRTHDAY FOR THE TEN THOUSANDTH TIME! **I've been a little... high today, I belive I inhaled too much of that spray paint in Tec. class. *When singing occurs, words in parenthasies ( I cant spell) are sung by the other voice.*

**Titled **

Roger fled the hospital, fled before he had to see the rest.

Before he had to be the witness.

Now the lost -far -beyond -ever -being -saved man was fiddling with the door to the loft, although he lacked memory of arriving. Rain was pouring furiously outside, (since when did it rain on fucking Christmas eve anyway?) soaking everything in its way with large, forceful drops. The atmosphere broke a threatening tone, the sky just shy of being black, and loud thunder and lighting disturbing the neon city skyline. The door finally gave way and Roger pushed it back fiercely, unable to comprehend.

Anything.

He's dead.

You're in love with him.

Mark is dead.

He kicked at the couch residing darkly in the middle of the room, picked up a lamp and threw it against the wall, because what the hell else could he do ?

The electricity was out, the wavering dull bulb of the street lamp residing outside the lofts main window providing the only persisting light.

**And the last fuse began to burn low, the last string began to pull tauter and tauter ..**

Lighting flashed brightly, illuminating Roger's expressionless face and raging eyes as he grabbed mugs and plates and glasses and anything that would give him the satisfaction of breaking out of the cupboards and smashed them against the wall and the floor. And he needed it, he needed to see that something else was just as broken as him, to prove to himself and the world that it really was fucking over.

_When one is faced with over bearing emotion _

His kicked at the wall again, because maybe if it gave way, he would feel better, and then punched it repetitively, because maybe if he hurt himself enough, it would ease his real pain. It would begin to makeup for what he had done to Mark. Yet still unaware of any physical pain that, evidentially, must be occurring. He was incapable of feeling it . He grabbed a wooden chair and smashed it over the back of the sofa, before tipping the larger piece of furniture over itself.

_that cannot be avoided, _

And then he started screaming. Either he started, or had been the whole time. He wasn't sure.

Because it just wasn't fucking fair. And it was all his goddamn fault, he knew it was. The rain danced outside beneath the streetlight. The flickering speck of illumination, designed to make all the difference between light and dark. And really, it did no such thing. Only made the dark colder, bone chilling, only made it blacker and more threatening. Only displayed the sharp line, the harsh contrast more prominently. And everyone saw this, yet they merely settled with the hope that maybe, it was just them, and that maybe the thin ray of light was just that to someone else, something to be admired.

Hope. He scoffed

Hope was such a fucking waste of time

**Who knew what the hell was holding him together now? Thinner and thinner ..**

He started screaming louder as another rumble of thunder and then a flash of lighting made an appearance across the sky.

" I'm in love with you Mark!" Maybe, if he said it now, it would stopping weighing quit so heavy on him.

Why was it so easy now ?

Why didn't it feel any better ?

"And now its too fucking late!" And he didn't know what to do, he didn't care anymore.

Why?

**Weaker and weaker **

And so he threw arms back and began yelling at the ceiling

_and/ or a lack of control_

"He didn't fucking deserve this!" He was aware he didn't believe in god, never had, didn't have a reason to, but it's not like he could think straight, not like he could barely breath. " All he ever did was care about other people and give himself up every fucking day of his life! He was the best fucking thing that ever existed and he didn't deserve any of this shit! He deserved the fucking world! HE DOESN'T DESERVE THIS".

The skinny Jewish kid that was in his Bio class, readying to jump off a bridge, his pity for that 'loser'. That same skinny Jewish kid refraining him from killing his own self years and years later.

**Tighter and tighter **

Mark's eyes, weighed down by dark circles from studying all night, a vain attempt to be accepted to law school. For his parents approval. Mark's eyes bright as a fucking star as they pulled up to the loft for the first time.

**Pulled harder and harder **

Late, late nights giggling like 13 year old girls, attempting to be silent so not to wake the authority figures of the house. Late, late nights of shaking, of sweating of desperate pleas and a lost will to live. Of comforting arms.

**How was it still intact? This thin bit holding him together? Holding him from the edge? Closer and closer.. **

Words of caring, often forbidden and words of hate, of lies and accusations, often hiding what needed to be said. Doing fucking insane things at 1:00 in the morning, because they were young and in teenagers in high school, and already out of the house . Thousands of conversations lasting till 1:00 in the morning. Conversations lacking awkward silences, lacking silence just as they always did, because oddly, with them, unfit and undesired silence was unheard of.

**Pulling, pulling **

Days forgotten, and occurrences desired so. Days remembered, lacking a choice. All of it. Every moment. All played before him.

Trying to break him.

When really.

No one.

Even had.

To

try.

_Loss of only remaining love_

**So far, so very tight, so very thin and weak after being pulled so long **

He became aware of some variation of disturbance outside of the loft door but was distracted when the light bulb from the street lamp blew out side. Now he was in complete darkness, all to fitting, with only the lighting illuminating the room every now and again.

_The only thing left to do_

And it was sickly twisted really, sick and ironic. Almost like someone was getting a kick out of this. Out of the whole complete fucking thing. And maybe, maybe darkness wasn't so bad. Maybe it was just misperceived due to what was commonly thought. But no one really knew. Because every one avoided darkness. Humans natural fear of the unknown. And so maybe it was honestly the darkness that should be desired, and the light shunned. Who made the decision light was so much fucking better anyway?

Didn't make a difference.

-

-

-

-

-

He couldn't live in the light without Mark.

-

-

-

-

-

-

*He couldn't live without Mark.

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-He couldn't fucking…..

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**Snap **

_Is break_

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

And now he was balling, and screaming in such a loud voice you wouldn't think capable for a human being, his throat becoming raw with each word and his voice dieing with each syllable. The room illuminated again, revealing a lost, cut open young man, bleeding as he sank to the ground

"**I AM IN FUCKING LOVE WITH YOU MARK****" **

And in the pitch black, he did the only thing that had ever helped him survive. That had ever healed him. The only thing he even knew how to do anymore.

He began singing .

The only song that seemed to be in his memory

the only one that had ever really made him feel.

He sang loudly as he could, so the hurt would sink into the sound

"There is not future, there is not past,

Thank god this moments not the last.

There's only us,

There's only this,

Forget regret

Or life is yours to miss" And he was unaware of the voice joining him

"No other road,

No other way,

No day but today

I can't control

( Will I lose my dignity?)

My destiny

(Will someone care?)

I trust my soul

( Will I wake tomorrow?)

My only goal

(From this)

Is just to be"

(Night mare)

He somehow found the ability to sing louder,

-

-

-

-

for at that moment

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

he had finally,

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

after an entire life

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

after his whole life,

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

he had finally, finally

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

He

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

Had

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

Finally

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**Broken**

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-"Without you

(There's only now)

The hand gropes

(There's only hear)

The ear hears

(Give in to love)

The pulse beats

(Or live in fear)

Life goes on

(No other road)

But I'm gone

(No other way)

Cause I die without you

(No day but today)

**I die without you **

**I die without you **

**I die without you**

**I die without you**"

-

-

-

-

They had always said it was impossible to die of a broken heart

But as his breathing became labored

And he began to wither

As he began to slowly, and literally die

He proved them

-

-

-

-

-Wrong

-

-

-

-

-

-

"Roger!"

-

-

-

-

Roger brought his tear flood eyes up to meet the source of the noise.

He made out a figure in the doorway.

He inhaled raggedly, trying to the best of his now deteriorated ability to comprehend what was happening

Another flash of lighting illuminated the loft.

Illuminating Rogers trembling body and broken tear stained eyes,

-

Illuminating the hurt reflecting in the room ,

-

-

the smashed pieces and the shattered life,

-

-

-

the man dieing on the ground and the hopelessness of breaking .

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

Illuminating Mark

-

-

-

-

standing in the door way.

-

-

-

-

-

"Roger!" A cry over another, louder crack of thunder. A breathless call, ability hindered by the effort of running which didn't make a difference, because at this point there was no idea what to say.

Roger gazed at him blankly,

He had gone insane or maybe he had killed himself, but either way this wasn't real. Mark just wasn't there, he just couldn't be.

The filmmaker sat silently in the door way for a few moments, breathing deeply. He was, with lack of logical or explainable reason, attempting to keep up the rhythm of not thinking or feeling that he had obtained for so many years.

Tried desperately to clench his jaw and switch on his detached mode, before he blew over.

Tried to keep together like he had for so long,

to keep his head above water.

But he couldn't manage anymore,

No fancy reason or explanation, no in depth analysis as to what he was feeling, no plausible excuse as to why.

No why at all

he just couldn't.

-

-

-

-

-

-

And the impossible happened

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

Mark

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

Mark Joseph Cohen

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

at that moment,

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

**Finally**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**-**

**Broke **

-

-

-

-

-

--

-

-

--

-

After a life time of dry eyes and suppressed emotions, of a façade he convinced everyone else as well as himself was true, after years of taking each and everything and holding it together, of hidden disasters.

He fell the fuck apart

The act he had so painstakingly and skillfully held up slipped from his grasp.

And he cried.

He had forgotten what it felt like to cry, had no control,

when everything builds up,

it has to come out at some point

and who or how or when it does

can make

or break

you.

We build and then we break.

Tears are temporary, scars are forever.

And so he sobbed , stood in the doorway sobbing uncontrollably , tears mingling with the rain water dripping from his hair. Shattering, that was bad enough, even the sound of the word was ugly, not nearly in comparison to the action or the result of it. But they, they were falling apart at the seams. Like a paper back book left out in the rain too long. pages scattered now worthless, pointless, without each other. Ink running together, the words and sentences that once made the story up, now meaningless. Pages too heavy after all there time in the rain to flutter about as they used to, after withstanding the storms. Finally being so soaked and weighed down they just had to fall out. Each stitch being undone

One . at. a. fucking. time

Until they were lost completely from what had held them together in the first place.

And so the two stood across the room from each other, each drowning .

Only separated by the words that were yet to be said,

The ones Mark could barely manage to choke out between sobs and attempting to scream over the loud and frequent crashes of thunder.

"Roger that wasn't me in the hospital, it wasn't my body! We tried to tell you but you ran off! I was standing at the door though Roger, I heard everything" His sobbing had begun to cease to a limited extent and despite tears trickling down his cheeks, and soft sobs of protest, he was able to talk coherently one more.

He stood rigidly in the door way, trying in vain to force his mind to function, but in the end only felt and didn't think.

He threw his arms back in a way that implied he was finally giving him self, and his whole self away, every part of him for everyone to see and for Roger to take.

He stood as Roger, who for the sake of hope, had recovered and was staring back at the small film maker. Lighting flashed again reveling Mark standing in the doorway, his heart on his sleeve for once in his life, his face tear streaked, breathing heavily, his clothes soaked completely through and his hair chaotically strewn about, his blue eyes flooded with everything that had built up his whole life.

It was dark for another few moments, allowing the two hearts to beat hollowly for the last time, before lighting flashed again, the brightest it ever had, as if trying to emblaze the scene in time and thunder rumbled as if at last submitting to its defeat

"**I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU ROGER****" **

And now, their hearts were no longer hollow.

They stood for a few moments , waiting only until lighting once again beckoned the sky to race across the room. They met in the middle, their bodies colliding and their arms as last belonging.

It was like they could finally breath,

all the want and the hurt and the need that had all collected and accumulated just as the sting of cold did, all the empty voices and unspoken tears that had been suffocating them,

faded

burned

as they finally had each other the way it was always meant to be.

And just like the lighting that was breaking the sky outside,

The moment their hearts met,

a spark flew,

Illuminated all the darkness and cold that always surrounded them

The moment their lips met

The darkness was finally broken.


	13. Nevers And Maybes Die

**A/n: **Yes well, this is it. The first fan fiction I ever wrote is now coming to a close. Check out 'My Heart Is Too Hard To Break', for I am going to begin expanding that. I will save you my pointless rambiling and merely say I apprecaite all reviews I have, and still am to recieve. I apologize for this chapter really, it's tacky and corny, borderlining cliche and predictable, or atleast I belive so, but I am quit proud of the very ending. It always feels so odd when ending long going .. things (lacking a better term at the moment) such as this and although I am always at a loss of normal conversation capabilities when this time roles around, I never have trouble leaving one with fitting words to depart with.

**The Nevers and Maybes die.**

Roger smiled jotting down the last few lyrics of his most current song. He skimmed back over the paper quickly , and although dissatisfied with bits and piece, closed the notebook, returning the tattered pages back to their rightful spot in his guitar case. He leaned back and settled into the warm silence of the loft, pleased with having electricity/heat for once due to Collins 'not wanting his boys to freeze their too skinny assess off' , as well as the actual presence of decoration, protested by both it's inhabitants , but with Maureen's determination to ' make the fucking loft goddamn cheerful for fucking Christmas' had been decked out despite their displeasure, all only adding to his light spirits. The rest of the 'family' was coming over later in the evening, and Mark had gone out real quick after 'arguing' for half an hour over who would have to get off their lazy ass and grab some real food for the party, which only ever resulted in a make out session anyway. Roger smiled thinking about his love, remembering THE night exactly a year ago, the way he finally escaped from the cold and the hollow pain and the suffocation . The way they both lost themselves the moment their lips met, and the feeling of waking up, both still naked, entwined in each other the next morning. He laughed at the recollection of all their friends reactions to the news. Joanne's spewing coffee across the table, Maureen screeching so loud someone actually called an ambulance, as well jumping up on the table dancing and singing, and reminding Collins he now owed her 50 bucks. Collins just laughed completely hysterically and hugged the two men so tightly they were basically lifted off the ground. The most common reaction however, a response they received from other friends, acqutences, and even a few strangers that hung around the life or the loft's building was a triumphant cry of 'finally!' and/or the informing another they had lost a bet and owed large amounts of money, which the new couple had found humorous.

Love, relationships, commitment and Roger. Those never mixed well. The rocker had always quickly become bored, discarding partner after partner as he went, for you change and develop your whole life, the chances you'll be able to change with someone properly was slim to non. He simply had never been able to stay with one person long, not because of commitment problems, but just the plain fact of getting bored, and of passion fading. And how, he wondered, is it possible to stay with someone nearly your entire life, and prevent yourself from resenting them ? From needing room to breath? And sure, he had loved April and Mimi with all his heart, yet passion outweighed all other factors in those relationships. A quick blazing flame, glimpse of eternity, that simply fades out quickly. Yet, neither relationship got a chance to burn out, which was a factor in differentiating them from the rest. But this, he knew, they all knew, from the first moment was different. Because, it was almost as if the passion was higher than he had ever felt, yet it was disguised maybe even balanced with unwavering love. Past, future, desire, stability, all key factors in somehow dulling passion. Not the heat of it though, defiantly not, more like the sting. The sting of uncertainty. They were different because, well he couldn't put anything into words. And that was the point. Because every other time he could find some sort of words to express THEM whoever they were. And yet , now he was at a total loss.

And that made all the difference.

Every glance, or touch or smile, although they were entirely common, took his breath away again, knocked all the air out of him , each morning remained new and exhilarating, this he could never get bored of. He knew it, everyone knew it. This would and could never fade. It was simply undying.

Simply meant to be.

And so everything went on, although nothing was perfect. This wasn't some sort of fairytale, after all. Roger constantly feared that Mark would someday contract HIV/AIDS, although he was tested regularly and was still negative, not everything repaired and they still both sported marks and scars, that even though faded, were still forever present. Both still held their passion, and determination to not just be another in the crowd, they were still young, and although Roger had a fuse burning called HIV, that's exactly what it was. Just HIV, just 3 letters, simply a fire fed by fear, which he refused to ignite. Life wasn't worth less just because it might get cut short. Mark still told Roger when he was being an ass, and Roger still told Mark, who had like a 10 second rebound rate, when he was being a son of a bitch (A/n hahaha see , I just had to throw a little bit from the movie The Notebook in their) they were different, that's for sure, in fact they were plain out fucking weird, but honestly it was for the better. Fitting in isn't a good thing. And often, it was a possibility that kept them going. The possibility that all their far-from-their-grasp dreams will become reality, the possibility that the horrible disease would be cured and the possibility that this was all true and not a dream, and though anyone might call either of them a dreamer or a fool or any other thing, they believed anything was possible (A/n, part of that was from The Notebook too, hahhaha I'm such a loser, I love it!)

Roger leaned back against the couch, now lost in thought. Christmas eve, he mused, had never ceased to amaze him. He recalled a specific time of his child hood, his older brother had gotten hit by a car, and the trauma to his head was bad enough that he had spiraled into a coma. He had been in a vegetated state for months , doctors reassured that he wasn't going to wake up, and that his heart was going to fail in about 4 days, as well as them preparing to shut off his life support at this time. It was assured that is was just physically and literally impossible for him to wake up, and told the family they could spend his last few days with him in the intensive care room. Roger had always been so close to his brother, lacking anyone else who gave a shit. Even in the fucked up way they shared. His brother's last day, December 24, around 11:30 at night, found Roger sitting blankly at his brother bed side, expecting any moment to hear the steady beeping of the machine go flat. His parent had left a while ago, since she didn't spend half as much time visiting as Roger did, so he sat alone , on the verge of tears. It was the most heart breaking site really, such a young child spending a holiday that was supposed to be so joyous, breaking apart at a bed side, waiting for certain death and agony to occur, while his mother was out drinking as usual. He sighed loudly as the clock neared midnight, the moment he was dreading so painstakingly , for the doctors assured after all their calculations, his brother would die before the clock struck 12:01. Because if he didn't, his life support was being cut off at that moment anyway. Roger glanced at the bed, then back over at the time, considering how sick and twisted this was. That he was capable of counting his brothers last seconds. That he knew the exact moment the older boys breathing would subside. 11:58. He closed his eyes, and turned back to his brother, with lack of anything else to do, he cleared his throat, and leaned closely to the bed, in hopes of make is rough whisper heard. Because maybe, just maybe his brother would hear him. And maybe, he wouldn't have to leave alone and cold. Maybe if he said it, his brother would at least feel loved for once in his life, despite it being on his death bed.

"I love you man" He then leaned back against the stiff chair, closing his eyes to block out the site of life draining from his brother. The body

Tick

beep

Tick

beep

Tick

beep

Tick

He held his breath, pretending he was prepared to hear the monitor flat line, when in reality he never would be.

Beep

Tick

Beep

Tick

Beep

Tick

10

Tick

Tick

9

Tick

Beep

Beep

8

Beep

Beep

Beep

7

Beep

Tick

6

Tick

5

Tick

Tick

4

He held his breath harder

Tick 3

Beep

Tick 2

Rustling

A shaky breath

The first thing that met his eyes when he slowly cracked them back open was the clock that read 11:59

"Love you too man"

The doctors never could explain how this was possible, defied all rules of science and whatever the hell else. Said it was a miracle. But Roger figured they were just wasting their time. Not everything had an explanation.

Another year, when he was about 14 Roger himself had gotten very sick. He had been sick since October and at one point had been on his death bed, but was now completely recovered. Save one fact. He was almost completely dumb. Not dumb as in stupid, but as in couldn't speak. His mother refused to pay for any surgeries, and over the coarse of his illness , something had happen within his vocal chords, making speaking almost labored. And this, was probably one of the very worst things that could happen to him, because now he couldn't sing. Music had always been the way he lived, the way breathed, and now that he couldn't sing, his life had basically lost meaning. The medical professionals, they promised that he would never improve much more than being able to semi- yell, much less would he ever be able to sing. They had done all they could, really they had, but it was simply impossible for him to ever improve enough to vocalize.

This particular season, ironically, he was set up to sing and play live, on Christmas eve (Opening for a famous band) on an outdoor stage just outside of town with an audience of over 50,000 people, not to mention its being broadcasted on national television. He had landed this solely on a lucky break and having a few connections , and now every dream he had clung to was crushed. Not a soul had ever really head him sing before, In expectation to his friend who landed him this break, and his mother coming home once to him belting, and due to pure cruelty, and headache due to alcohol consumption, had assured him that he was horrible , the song he was singing ( which he had written) was horrible, and his guitar playing was horrible, and that he would never amount to anything. No one believed in him, he was well aware, whether it be peers , strangers, friends, or adults, they all scoffed at what he strived for, all were so sure he would fail , never amount to more than a want- to -be- rock star. But he would show them, he knew, he would show the world, prove every fucking one of them wrong. He had wanted this no needed this more than he could even begin to put in words, one of those real things you can only feel, but can't explain. That was going to be, was supposed to be his moment. And now, as if some sick cruel joke, all this had simply been pulled out from under him. On this specific Christmas eve, his brother had hauled him down to the park anyway, and managed to push through the crowd enough to get them spots to stand in the front row, directly in front of the stage. Roger stood hunched over and brooding, plaid only in a tight t-shirt, leather jacket ,and ripped jeans , his finger nails painted black with a slight amount of eyeliner smudged under his eye and his single stud earring in his right ear, he was catching quiet a flew glares, which usually Dally (A/n hey look a name from the book The Outsiders now!) didn't mind, in fact his brothers style was one thing he loved to harass him about. But not tonight , tonight Dally had a mission, a mission he would not rest till he succeeded in, (and at this point something would be mention of that being cliché, but alas, Dally has no idea what the fuck that means) the goal ? To re in stow hope into his brother. A few over played Christmas carols projected faintly from the large speakers on either side of the stage , as the time for the opening act to begin approach. As 9:00 rolled around, Dally grabbed his brothers hand and pulled him back stage, fully aware the younger boy didn't have much voice to protest with.

Yet.

He whispered to a man who was in control of the sound board and then pulled his brother off to the side of the curtains, brushing off the younger mans jacket and fixing at his hair. Roger slapped his hands away and opened his mouth to question what the fuck he was doing when a voice boomed from the speakers out on the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us on this magical evening of Christmas eve! We are going to begin our show with a remarkable young man and close friend of mine, singing and playing us a song he's written, titled 'That Was Then and This Is Now' presenting Roger Davis!" Roger stood dumfounded for a few moments, then turned hastily to his brother, wide eyed

"Dallas !" he croaked, looking frightened " are you fucking insane I can barely speak, you heard what the doctors said!"

"Yeah" Dally smiled at him " Yeah I did hear what the doctors said, just like you heard what they said about ME" He laughed a little catching the younger boys green eyes with his own "Now go out there and be another miracle" Roger coughed a little and continued to stare at his brother in bewilderment

"But Dally they said I'll never be able to sing"

"Yeah ?" Dally laughed, turning his brother around and shoving him toward the stage " Well that was then and this is now"

and he pushed him out into the bright lights. The air was frigid , the lights blinding, and a crowd like he had never seen before was gathered, thousands of eyes glaring at him expectantly. He sighed deeply, trying to ignore the pounding of his heart in his chest, and slowly made his way over to the microphone, his footsteps echoing hollowly on the way. Each step seemed to cover less ground, as cold whips of frost whirled in the air, the starkness contrasting the crowd below him. A dead silence had settled over the area, and, with lack of any alternative, Roger grabbed his guitar and settled himself directly in front of the audience. He opened his mouth and attempted to speak to them, which only resulted in the low raspy grunts he had recently become so accustom to. This was fucking crazy, he knew, he could still barely talk, yet there he was in front of thousands live, and millions watching from home, attempting to be something fucking special. What it was that held him to that spot, sweat forming on his forehead, hazel green eyes darting about nervously, he would never know, but he somehow managed to gather all the hope and the dreams and the faith he held on to. Every forgotten hope, and vague awareness of certain failure. He breathed in deeply, preparing for certain disappointment and embarrassment.

And he sang.

He was utterly shocked, astonished even, when the first note came out of his mouth. But it did non the less. And he sang, he sang better then he ever had and at the end when everyone was cheering or crying or had Goosebumps and all were giving him a round of applause that was four times as loud as the professional band , the reason half the people actually came at all, got, He took the microphone and smiled at the audience as he spoke.

"A few months ago" he began " I became very sick, and after I recovered, the doctors assured me and my family that I would barely be able to speak again, much less ever sing, and music being my life I was devastated" he laughed a little looking out at all the faces, anxious to hear the rest of the story " The doctors promised it was just literally impossible, and I was sure I wouldn't ever be able to sing again, until the first note came out of my mouth tonight" a few gasps were the only disturbances daring to penitrate the silence " Only a few minutes ago, I had no hope left" dead silence

"but as a friend of mine once said" he smiled, and turned around to face his brother who was watching backstage, smiling like an idiot

"That was then, and this is now"

Roger shuttered, blinked harshly, and finally laughed. Dally would think he was being such a pussy. Yet, Every single year, without fail, something absolutely miraculous happened to him on Christmas eve. Even his existence was, for his mother, who was supposedly unable to become pregnant, found she was pregnant with him on a Christmas eve as well. He though how painfully ironic, and some what queer and cliché, the whole situation was, and found it humorous as well, for he was the most unreligious man that probably ever existed. But he did believe in miracles, he had to admit, how could he not ? Even in the most present years, that fateful Christmas eve they all knew so much about, he next one after that , that they all also knew so well about, and even last year with Mark. But honestly, he didn't expect anything this year. The fact Mark was with him, the fact Mark was going to come in and kiss him any moment, that was better than any miracle to him. It was a miracle in itself.

At that moment, as if on que, he was disturbed by the sound of the loft door opening and quickly looked up smiling, expecting to be greeted joyfully by his love. Instead he saw a face streaked with tears, carrying an expression he had never seen, and couldn't quit identify.

"Mark?" He asked, stirring from his seat on the coach and taking a cautious step toward his lover

"Roger!" Mark cried, he was out of breath, and was quiet hysteric, tears dripping from his ice blue eyes

"Mark, baby what's wrong?" No reply.

Mark bit his lip and hung his head for a moment, shaking violently, sobs raking his body.

But when he looked up, oh god when he looked up,

He smiled.

A heavy silence consisting of implacable emotion for a few moments.

Mark sobbing uncontrollably, happy tears evidently, and Roger shooting him confused glances.

Mark let out a low laugh.

"Roger"

His eyes were dancing in a way that out shown the stars and he wore a smile that the sun could only be jealous of.

And Roger _swore_ he heard three familiar feminine laughs join in with Mark, ringing out from skies above.

"They found a cure for AIDS."


End file.
